ACO         9528 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 


i 


The  Grasp  of  the 
Sultan 

' 


M  Illustrations  by 
W.T.Benda 


6 


hou>n 

*  \ 


Boston  and  New  York 

Houghton  Mifflin  Company 

(t&e  fliter^i&e  j&rei^  Cambridge 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,   1915  AND  I9l6,  BY  THE  BUTTERICK  PUBLISHING  COMPANT 
COPYRIGHT,   1916,   BY  HOUGHTON   M1FFLIN   COMPANY 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  Junt  H)lb 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  MAN  FROM  THE  GUTTER      ...  I 

II.  BAYAZET'S  MOTHER 15 

III.  ADAMS  HEARS  A  SOB 29 

IV.  "THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  HURRICANE"      .  43 
V.  THE  TUTOR'S  FIRST  DAYS       ....  $6 

VI.  THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN    OF  STAMBOUL     73 
VII.   "YOUNG,  AND  ALONE,  AND  DEFENSE- 
LESS"     86 

VIII.  MANLOVE  PASHA  WONDERS   ....     97 

IX.   THE  DREAMS   OF   KIZATESH   SULTANA  IIO 

X.   ON  BOARD  THE  SHIMSHEK      .      .      .      .124 

XI.   THE  PACT 137 

XII.   KIPRULI  ALI 151 

XIII.  "WHO  AMI?   OH,  I'MONLY —  "      .      .   169 

XIV.  A  NIGHT  ON  THE  RAMPARTS        .      .      .187 
XV.   MOTHER  AND  SON 197 

XVI.   THE  PRICE  OF  A  WOMAN 213 

XVII.   FATHER  AND  SON 231 

XVIII.   THE  SHAME  OF  AN  EAGLET    ....  239 

XIX.   "YANGIN!" 253 

XX.   «  IN  THE  THICK  OF  IT  » 275 

XXI.    "AT  LEAST  LET  ME  DIE  LIKE  A  MAN"  286 
XXII.   IN  THE  NEVER-NEVER  LAND       .      .      .297 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Wrenched  the  child  from  the  Englishman's  arms 
and  tore  out  of  the  room  (page  55)  Frontispiece 

"  This  will  teach  me  to  hate  my  master"  .  .  .120 
"//  must  be  five,  because  I  will  it"  .  .  .  .210 
As  the  father  retreated  the  boy  advanced  .  .  .  244 


The  Grasp  of  the  Sultan 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MAN  FROM  THE   GUTTER 

IT  was  a  tiny  coffee-house  on  a  side  street  off 
Kara-kuey,  and  not  more  than  half  an  hour's 
walk  from  the  Bridge  of  Galata.  It  was  made 
of  plain,  unpainted  boards,  to  which  time  and 
smoke  had  given  a  coating  of  black.  Its  sole 
ornament  was  a  pergola,  over  which  luxuriated 
a  grapevine,  the  hard,  green  fruit  hanging  down 
into  space.  The  pergola  extended  over  the 
whole  sidewalk,  obviously  meant  for  pedes- 
trians; but  the  cafedji  was  a  Turk,  and  ignored 
the  rights  of  pedestrians.  He  appropriated  the 
sidewalk  with  the  same  air  of  ownership  as  did 
the  shadow  of  his  grapevine.  A  dozen  low,  rus- 
tic stools  filled  the  sidewalk,  for  the  convenience 
of  the  patrons  of  the  coffee-house,  and  to  the 
inconvenience  of  all  others,  who  on  muddy  days 
were  forced  to  go  out  into  the  mud,  ankle-deep. 

I 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

No  one  complained.  People  in  Turkey  rarely 
do.  Besides,  the  patrons  of  the  coffee-house 
were  the  formidable  carriers  of  Constantinople. 
Thus,  no  one  interfered,  and  the  cafedji  and  his 
grapevine  spread  themselves  unhampered  over 
the  sidewalk. 

It  was  the  midday  hour,  the  hour  in  which 
the  little  cafe  was  most  busy  in  extending  its 
hospitality.  All  the  stools  were  taken.  The 
ample  bloomers  of  the  carriers  overfilled  the 
straw  seats.  The  long,  many-colored  stockings, 
the  bright  kerchiefs  twined  around  the  red 
fezes,  and  the  gold  and  silver  thread  with  which 
the  carriers'  short  jabots  were  embroidered 
made  the  portion  of  the  sidewalk  underneath 
the  pergola  very  picturesque  and  very  Oriental. 
They  are  fastidious  and  dandified,  these  giants 
from  Anatolia,  who  wear  their  clothes  with  such 
a  debonair  grace,  and  always  have  love  exploits 
to  relate  to  one  another. 

Just  now,  at  the  midday  hour,  they  were  at 
their  ease.  No  power  and  no  sum  of  money 
could  make  them  work  between  twelve  and  two. 
Some  were  eating  their  luncheon  of  half  a  loaf  of 
bread,  garnished  with  sliced  onions,  tomatoes, 

2 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

and  oil,  with  abundant  salt  and  pepper.  Others, 
having  done  with  eating,  were  smoking  their 
narghiles  in  a  contemplative  manner;  while  still 
others  were  playing  at  backgammon.  In  the 
street,  upward  of  twenty  dogs  were  lying  con- 
tentedly, their  heads  buried  in  their  front  paws, 
fast  asleep.  Men  and  dogs  made  a  perfect  pic- 
ture of  life  at  its  quietest  and  most  peaceful  — 
innocent  of  any  rude  feelings. 

Down  the  road  came  a  shabbily  dressed 
young  Englishman.  The  scene  evidently  ap- 
pealed to  him;  for  he  stopped  a  few  yards  away 
to  contemplate  it.  Presently  one  of  the  carriers, 
an  Armenian,  reached  up,  took  a  grape,  and, 
with  careful  aim,  threw  it  at  the  head  of  a  dog. 

The  animal  raised  his  head,  looked  about 
him,  and  then  fell  back  into  his  former  position. 
The  Armenian  laughed.  His  co-religionists 
sitting  around  him  —  for  each  religion  in  Tur- 
key naturally  congregates  by  itself  —  laughed 
also. 

The  Armenian  took  another  grape,  and  with 
the  same  precision  threw  it  at  the  same  dog. 

The  dog  raised  his  head  again,  gave  a  plain- 
tive growl,  and  again  lay  down.  The  Armenians 

3 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

laughed  again,  and  the  thrower  reached  for  a 
third  grape. 

"Let  him  alone!"  said  a  Turkish  carrier. 

The  Armenian  paid  no  attention  to  the 
words,  but  threw  his  grape  as  before. 

"I  told  you  to  let  him  alone,"  repeated  the 
Turk. 

"So  you  did,"  the  Armenian  assented,  with 
exaggerated  deliberation  reaching  up  for  an- 
other grape. 

In  other  parts  of  the  Turkish  Empire  an 
Armenian  would  instantly  have  obeyed  the 
Turk;  but  here  at  Galata,  where  the  strongest 
of  them  congregated,  they  often  stood  up  for 
themselves. 

"Well,  I  said,  'Let  the  dog  alone,'"  repeated 
the  Turk,  the  quiet  contemplation  gone  from 
his  eyes. 

All  the  carriers  became  attentive.  Those  who 
were  still  eating  gulped  down  their  food;  those 
who  were  smoking  took  the  markoutches  out  of 
their  mouths ;  and  those  who  were  playing  back- 
gammon stopped  with  the  dice  in  their  fingers. 

The  Armenian,  for  answer,  reached  for  an- 
other grape.  He  had  not  time  to  pluck  it.  With 

4 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

a  swift  movement,  the  Turk  snatched  up  the 
stool  he  was  sitting  on,  and  threw  it  at  the  head 
of  the  Armenian,  with  the  same  precision  which 
had  characterized  the  latter. 

The  scene  changed. 

All  the  men  were  on  their  feet  —  and  all  the 
dogs,  too. 

The  peaceful  street  was  a  battlefield. 

The  Armenians  sprang  to  the  left  —  the 
Turks  to  the  right.  They  faced  one  another 
man  to  man.  There  were  some  Turks  left 
over,  and  they  remained  under  the  pergola, 
watching. 

Each  man  fought  his  man  alone,  and  the  dogs 
were  spontaneously  fighting  among  themselves 
and  among  the  legs  of  the  men.  One  of  the 
most  wonderful  sights  of  Constantinople  is  a 
fight  among  the  carriers.  It  is  as  superb  as  it  is 
rare.  These  giants,  who  think  nothing  of  carry- 
ing a  piano  on  their  backs,  practice  wrestling 
and  boxing  every  day,  and  when  they  come  to  a 
real  fight,  they  bring  to  it  the  same  tactics  and 
the  same  skill  that  they  bring  to  their  games, 
nor  do  they  ever  resort  to  unfair  methods. 

The  shabby  young  Englishman  was  fasci- 
5 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

nated  by  the  spectacle  of  sheer  physical  mag- 
nificence before  him.  Lithe  and  alert,  he  stood 
tense  as  an  umpire  at  a  football  game,  absorbed 
in  watching  the  contestants  in  this  well-organ- 
ized battle.  So  intent  was  he  that  he  did  not 
notice  the  approach  of  an  older  Englishman, 
dressed  in  Turkish  naval  attire,  his  breast  cov- 
ered with  medals.  The  latter  glanced  from  the 
fighting  carriers  to  his  shabby  young  country- 
man, and  something  in  the  lean,  clean-cut  face 
carried  the  older  man  far  away  into  the  past  — 
a  remote  past,  but  one  which  had  helped  to 
carve  his  present;  for  the  face  of  the  young  man 
was  the  face  of  the  woman  who  had  preferred 
another  to  him,  and  because  of  her  Arthur  Man- 
love  had  left  the  navy  and  his  country,  had 
roamed  around  the  earth,  and  had  ended  by 
becoming  a  Turkish  admiral. 

The  fight  came  to  an  end,  the  Armenians 
having  got  the  better  of  the  Turks,  one  of 
whom  was  left  lying  on  the  ground,  evidently 
badly  injured.  The  young  Englishman  stepped 
quickly  to  the  side  of  the  prostrate  man,  and 
with  deft  fingers  began  to  examine  his  hurt. 
Ignorant  of  the  language,  he  instinctively 

6 


looked  about  for  an  interpreter,  and  found  his 
fellow  countryman  at  his  side. 

"I  say,  can  you  tell  them  to  get  a  bandage, 
and  some  sort  of  antiseptic?"  he  asked.  "If 
they  can,  I  can  fix  him  up.  I  Ve  done  quite  a  bit 
of  amateur  doctoring,  first  and  last." 

Manlove  did  as  he  was  requested,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  patient  was  skillfully  band- 
aged, and  seemed  little  the  worse  for  his 
encounter. 

"That  was  a  ripping  fight,"  the  young  Eng- 
lishman said.  "Will  you  tell  these  chaps  I  never 
saw  anything  finer  in  my  life?" 

The  carriers  were  childishly  pleased  with 
the  stranger's  praises,  and  the  wounded  man 
begged  his  excellency  to  tell  the  young  English- 
man that  he  had  nothing  with  which  to  repay 
him  except  his  two  arms ;  but  if  he  ever  needed 
them,  his,  Kipruli  Ali's,  were  at  his  service. 

"You  had  better  write  that  name  down," 
counseled  Manlove  Pasha.  "It's  a  great  piece 
of  luck,  and  not  to  be  despised,  if  you  intend  to 
stay  here  any  length  of  time." 

The  younger  Englishman  drew  from  the 
pocket  of  his  shabby  suit  an  old  notebook,  and 

7 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

wrote  down,  not  only  the  name  of  the  man,  but 
some  directions  by  which  he  could  find  him. 
The  carriers,  meanwhile,  had  ordered  coffee  and 
sweetmeats,  and  begged  the  two  foreigners  to 
do  them  the  honor  of  partaking  of  them.  The 
bemedaled  Englishman  accepted  the  invitation 
at  once,  and  the  other  followed  his  example. 
Having  tasted  the  sweetmeats  and  drunk  the 
coffee,  they  rose  and  bade  their  hosts  good-bye. 

"May  I  go  your  way?"  asked  Manlove 
Pasha  of  his  young  compatriot,  as  they  left 
the  carriers. 

"  I  don't  know  which  way  I  am  going,"  the 
other  replied. 

"Pardon  me  if  I  seem  intrusive,"  Manlove 
Pasha  persisted,  "but  though  you  do  not  know 
me,  I  know  you  —  or,  at  least,  I  knew  your 
family,  and  I  have  known  your  mother  very 
well,  indeed.  From  your  resemblance  to  her, 
you  must  be  the  son  of  Lady  Eunice  — " 

"Stop!"  cried  the  younger  man.  "My  name 
is  Burton  Adams." 

"It  is  immaterial  to  me  what  you  call  your- 
self. But  you  are  in  a  strange  land,  which  is  not 
strange  to  me,  and  I  offer  you  my  hospitality. 

8 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

My  name  is  Arthur  Manlove.  Where  are  you 
staying?" 

"I  landed  to-day,"  the  other  answered 
gruffly. 

Arthur  Manlove  had  not  for  many  years  seen 
the  woman  for  whose  sake  he  had  expatriated 
himself,  but  he  had  kept  in  touch  with  her  life, 
and  even  after  her  death  had  taken  an  interest 
in  the  three  sons  she  had  left.  The  two  elder 
had  inherited  the  hard  rectitude  of  their  father : 
between  them  and  the  youngest  —  the  image  of 
his  mother  —  there  had  never  been  sympathy. 
After  the  mother's  death  there  had  been  misun- 
derstandings, quarrels,  and,  as  a  black  sheep, 
he  had  been  turned  adrift.  Only  recently  Man- 
love's  sister  had  written  him  that  Lionel  was 
supposed  to  have  died  somewhere  in  the  Far 
East.  Yet  here  he  now  stood  in  the  flesh.  Man- 
love  Pasha  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  his 
identity  —  the  vehemence  with  which  the 
young  man  had  stopped  him  before  he  finished 
his  mother's  name  was  proof  enough,  if  con- 
firmation were  needed. 

Lionel  Deguerney  had,  indeed,  been  a  black 
sheep.  After  the  last  quarrel  with  his  father,  he 

9 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

had  left  his  home,  vowing  never  to  reenter  it; 
and  then,  by  easy  gradations,  he  had  landed  in 
the  gutter.  Fortunately  for  him,  instead  of  be- 
coming a  part  of  it,  its  smell  nauseated  him  and 
brought  him  to  his  senses.  His  manliness  and 
his  British  doggedness  awoke  at  the  same  time, 
and  he  resolved  to  climb  out  of  the  gutter.  It 
did  not  take  him  long  to  discover  the  vast  differ- 
ence between  sliding  down  and  climbing  up.  In 
fact,  he  soon  realized  that  it  was  easier  for  those 
to  climb  up  who  had  never  rolled  down  than  for 
those  who  had  once  been  on  the  heights  and  had 
acquired  a  bad  name.  Perhaps  so  much  energy 
is  spent  in  rolling  down  that  little  is  left  for 
climbing  up  again.  Then  he  resolved  at  least  to 
walk  on  the  clean  roadway  till  chance  offered 
him  an  opportunity  to  rise  again.  At  this  time 
he  changed  his  name  to  Burton  Adams. 

Adams  was  surprised,  almost  resentful,  that 
this  uniformed  Englishman  should  have  recog- 
nized him.  He  had  learned  that  rolling  into  the 
gutter  changes  a  man  beyond  the  power  of 
recognition  of  many  of  his  polite  friends. 

"If  no  other  engagement  claims  you,  dine 
with  me  at  Ghanni's,"  Manlove  Pasha  said. 

10 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"You  will  find  it  easily  —  on  the  Grande  rue  de 
Pera." 

Adams  hesitated.  From  most  of  his  one-time 
friends  he  would  have  refused  the  invitation  on 
the  spot;  but  Manlove's  manner  was  so  entirely 
lacking  in  condescension  that  he  felt  an  un- 
wonted impulse  to  accept  it.  A  surge  of  loneli- 
ness swept  over  him,  and  an  intolerable  longing 
for  a  few  words  with  some  one  connected  with 
his  former  life.  And  then  Manlove,  he  knew, 
had  been  something  of  a  rolling  stone  himself, 
though  he  had  always  rolled  on  the  level. 

"My  clothes  — "  muttered  Adams. 

"  Pooh !  They're  good  enough  to  consort  with 
this  old  uniform  of  mine.  You'll  come?" 

Adams  nodded  and  turned  quickly  away. 

That  evening  Manlove  gave  him  a  good 
dinner,  with  good  wine  and  good  cigars.  He 
treated  him,  not  as  a  black  sheep,  but  as  if 
Adams  still  held  the  position  he  once  had  held. 
He  asked  no  embarrassing  questions.  Only 
over  the  excellent  Turkish  coffee,  he  inquired 
casually :  — 

"What  are  you  doing  now?" 

It  was  so  many  months  since  the  fallen 
ii 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

gentleman  had  been  decently  treated  that  he 
was  touched.  Before  he  knew  it,  he  laid  bare 
his  whole  life  to  his  new-found  friend. 

Manlove  heard  him  out  in  sympathetic  si- 
lence. At  the  end  he  said :  — 

"I  may  be  able  to  help  you  a  bit,  if  you  will 
let  me." 

There  have  been  Englishmen  in  Turkey  of 
whom  the  world  has  known  little,  who  have 
had  considerable  to  do  with  the  shaping  of  the 
destinies  of  that  empire.  One  of  these  was 
Arthur  Manlove,  to  whom  was  due  whatever 
efficiency  the  navy  of  the  Sultan  possessed.  For 
the  time  being  he  was  honored  with  a  share  of 
that  monarch's  suspicious  confidence. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  a  kind  of  tutor  to  a 
number  of  boys?"  Manlove  went  on. 

"I  was  two  years  at  Oxford,"  Adams  stam- 
mered, "but  I  can't  say  I  distinguished  myself. 
I  never  was  much  of  a  hand  at  books,  you  know. 
What  should  I  have  to  teach  them?" 

Manlove  smiled.  "Only  plain  English,  and 
some  riding  and  driving." 

Adams's  face  lighted.  Horseflesh  was  some- 
thing he  understood. 

12 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"They  are  Turkish  boys,"  Manlove  contin- 
ued. He  had  been  speaking  in  low  tones;  he 
dropped  his  voice  still  lower  as  he  went  on: 
"They  are  the  Ottoman  imperial  princes,  and 
are  virtual  prisoners,  you  know.  They  ride  and 
drive  within  the  precincts  of  the  palace  gar- 
dens ;  and  the  general  scheme  of  their  education 
is  to  teach  them  as  little  as  possible.  How  do 
you  think  you  would  like  the  post?" 

Englishmen  are  supposed  to  be  stolid  and 
unemotional,  but  the  man  who  chose  to  call 
himself  Burton  Adams  felt  a  tightness  in  his 
throat  as  he  said  in  a  husky  voice :  — 

"You  would  be  willing  to  answer  for  me?" 

"I  know  the  blood,  and  when  it's  fit,  I'd 
wager  considerable  on  its  running  true.  You 
have  been  out  of  form  for  some  time,  but  you 
look  as  if  you  were  coming  around  right,  now." 
Manlove  held  out  his  hand,  rather  as  one 
who  seeks  than  as  one  who  bestows  a  favor. 
"Shall  we  shake  hands  on  that?"  he  asked. 

Burton  Adams  placed  his  calloused  hand  in 
the  well-kept  hand  of  the  other;  and  thus  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  one-time  younger  son  of 
a  noble  house,  and  the  later  vagabond  adrift, 

13 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

presented  himself  at  the  palace  for  the  position 
of  glorified  groom  and  unglorified  tutor  to  the 
imperial  household. 

When  Manlove  took  him  there,  Burton 
Adams  had  little  in  common  with  the  man  who 
had  stood  and  watched  the  street  brawl,  only 
a  few  days  before.  He  had  responded  not  so 
much  to  good  baths  and  good  clothes  as  to  the 
trust  a  man  of  his  class  had  placed  in  him. 

The  head  eunuch  received  them  and  studied 
the  proposed  tutor  quite  openly.  Then  he 
nodded  to  Manlove. 

The  older  Englishman  touched  the  shoulder 
of  his  friend. 

"You  have  just  passed  the  hardest  examina- 
tion you  ever  tried,  old  chap."  Turning  to  the 
powerful  official,  he  added:  "You  will  be  good 
to  my  friend,  won't  you,  Lala  Sheddin?" 

The  eunuch  gave  a  broad  grin.  "It  all  de- 
pends, your  excellency,"  he  answered.  "And 
now  I  will  take  charge  of  your  friend.  Good- 
bye!" 

"Good-bye!"  said  Manlove,  and  with  a  grip 
of  Adams's  hand,  he  added:  "Come  to  see  me 
when  you  are  able  to  leave  the  palace." 


CHAPTER  II 

BAYAZET'S  MOTHER 

IN  a  sumptuous  room  of  the  imperial  harem- 
lik,  in  the  Sultan's  palace,  a  heap  of  silken 
materials  lay  on  a  divan.  In  that  heap  was 
Kizatesh  Sultana,  mother  of  Prince  Bayazet. 
She  had  lain  thus  for  hours,  ever  since  dawn, 
ever  since  she  had  awakened  and  found  the 
nest  of  her  little  son  empty  —  her  son  who  had 
been  taken  away  from  her  while  she  had  been 
asleep,  by  the  command  of  his  father,  the  Sul- 
tan of  Turkey.  It  was  a  barbarous  act,  and 
the  enormity  of  it  left  her  stunned.  Her  sorrow 
was  dumb :  it  had  crushed  her. 

Two  young  slaves  suddenly  entered  the  room, 
prostrated  themselves  before  their  mistress, 
and  announced:  "The  Padishah!" 

The  heap  of  silken  materials  moved,  and 
from  it  rose  and  stood,  trembling  like  a  reed, 
holding  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands,  a  small, 
delicately  built  woman. 

The    Padishah    entered,    and    the    slaves, 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

crouching  on  their  hands  and  knees,  left  the 
room. 

The  Sultan  of  Turkey  came  near  the  woman. 
"Well?"  he  asked. 

He  received  no  reply. 

"How  dost  thou  like  thy  empty  arms?" 

The  woman  remained  silent. 

"Dost  thou  understand  that  Bayazet,  thy 
son,  has  been  taken  away  from  thee  —  for- 
ever?" 

The  delicate  frame  shook  a  little  more,  but 
the  woman  remained  silent,  her  face  always 
hidden  in  the  small,  white  hands. 

"Thou  knowest  that  thou  canst  have  Baya- 
zet back,  if  thou  wishest." 

No  answer. 

The  Shadow  of  Allah  on  Earth  waited,  in- 
tently watching  the  little  figure  before  him, 
which  was  lost  in  the  ample  and  costly  imperial 
garments.  It  was  several  days  since  he  had 
seen  her  proud,  disdainful  face.  He  took  a  step 
nearer  her,  and  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 
She  only  shivered. 

"Kizatesh  Sultana,  I  wish  to  see  thy  face 
to-day.  I  command  thee  to  show  me  thy  face." 

16 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

She  dropped  her  hands,  and  raised  her  small 
head,  though  her  eyes  were  cast  downward. 
He  noticed  that  the  face  was  not  tear-stained. 

"I  wish  thee  to  raise  thine  eyes  to  mine." 

She  obeyed.  They  were  dark  and  deep,  and 
full  of  thoughts. 

"I  used  to  think  that  thou  didst  love  thine 
only  child.  Was  I  mistaken?" 

It  was  as  if  the  shadow  from  a  cloud  passed 
over  the  mobile  and  sensitive  face.  Otherwise 
one  might  have  thought  that  she  had  not  heard 
him. 

"Thou  understandest  that  he  has  been  taken 
away  from  thee  —  never  to  be  returned?" 

A  tightening  of  her  lips,  and  that  was  all. 
Because  she  bore  her  misery  with  pride,  the 
Sultan  desired  her  the  more. 

"Thou  dost  not  love  thy  master  —  thou  dost 
not  love  thine  only  son !  Art  thou  a  woman,  or 
some  fleshless  djinn?  If  thou  continuest  in  thy 
obstinacy,  if  thou  openly  defiest  me,  I  shall 
treat  thee  as  no  wife  at  all  —  and  give  thee  to 
whomsoever  I  choose,  as  a  woman." 

A  flush  spread  over  the  pale  face.  "The  law 
of  the  holy  Koran  protects  me,  Padishah.  I 

17 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

am  the  mother  of  a  living  imperial  prince.   I 
cannot  be  given  away." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  musical,  yet  in  it  one 
felt  that  the  woman  had  both  character  and 
strength. 

"Thou  art  the  mother  of  an  imperial  prince, 
to-day,  —  living — "  He  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  waved  his  hand. 

A  spasm  shook  the  frail  body  of  the  woman. 
She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together.  Her 
eyes  held  his  entreatingly.  "You  will  not  — 
Be  merciful !  Be  merciful ! " 

He  laughed.  It  was  the  laugh  of  the  strong, 
who  felt  that  he  could  whip  the  weak  into 
obedience.  He  moved  away  and  stretched  him- 
self on  a  divan. 

"Why  shouldst  thou  implore  for  mercy  — 
thou,  of  all  women?" 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

The  Sultan  laughed  again.  "Thou  preferrest 
to  beg  as  a  mendicant  —  rather  than  to  bestow 
as  a  sultana:  to  be  of  those  who  receive  alms, 
rather  than  to  be  able  to  give  riches?" 

"I  gave  you  all  I  had,  my  lord." 

"  I  wish  thee  to  give  me  thy  love." 
18 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Love  is  a  gift  from  Allah,  O  Calif  of  the 
Faithful.  It  is  Allah  who  puts  it  into  the  breast 
of  a  woman  for  her  to  give.  He  has  put  none 
into  my  heart.  How  can  I  be  greater  than  Allah, 
and  give  what  he  has  forgotten  to  give  me?" 

"Come  here!"  He  repeated  the  command 
twice  before  she  obeyed  him.  "Come  and  kneel 
here  by  my  couch." 

She  knelt. 

The  Sultan  drew  her  close  to  him.  "Hast 
thou  never  loved  me  —  never  —  never?" 

"  So  many  women  have  loved  you  —  so  many 
women  do  love  you,  O  Padishah  —  whose 
beauty  is  wonderful.  What  matters,  Lord  of 
this  Earth,  the  love  of  a  woman  such  as  I?" 

"I  want  it.  Look  at  me!" 

She  obeyed. 

"Give  me  thy  lips." 

She  became  rigid,  and  he,  watching  her  face, 
saw  her  expression  change,  saw  her  face  harden. 

"Give  me  thy  lips,"  he  repeated. 

In  spite  of  her  obedient  attitude,  her  teeth 
snapped  viciously  over  her  lips. 

"Thou  hatest  me,  woman,  and  I  can  crush 
thee  as  I  can  crush  an  ant." 

19 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"I  do  not  hate  you,  lord,  for  you  are  Baya- 
zet's  father.  In  the  love  I  have  for  him,  I  also 
love  you.  How  can  I  hold  him  in  my  arms  and 
hate  you  —  his  father?  How  can  I  give  him  my 
tenderness,  unless  a  part  of  it  is  for  you?  I  love 
you  in  your  son,  and  this  is  the  only  love  Allah 
has  given  me  for  you." 

"  So  you  love  Bayazet.  Very  well."  He  rose, 
a  sardonic  smile  on  his  lips.  "Rise!"  he  com- 
manded. 

She  obeyed  him. 

He  lifted  her  chin  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 
He  spoke  very  slowly:  — 

"I  have  many  sons,  and  many  more  can  be 
born  to  me.  What  is  one,  more  or  less,  to  me?" 

"Padishah!  Little  Bayazet  is  yours,  since 
he  drew  life  from  your  life.  Because  a  mere 
woman  has  not  known  how  to  please  you,  you 
will  not  hurt  what  is  preciously  your  own! 
You  will  not  cut  a  small  but  rare  blossom  from 
your  own  tree!"  Her  voice  was  rich  in  its 
anguish.  It  thrilled  him  to  hear  it. 

He  eagerly  watched  the  play  of  emotions  on 
her  delicate  face.  It  pleased  him,  because  it 
excited  him.  For  the  first  time  since  she  had 

20 


THE    GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

been  his  wife  was  he  fully  aware  why  he  de- 
sired her  above  every  other  one  of  his  wives. 
It  was  because  she  roused  him  from  his  apathy: 
she  gave  a  variety  to  his  love  for  women.  All 
others  had  bowed  and  acquiesced.  She  alone 
fearlessly  proclaimed  that  there  was  no  love  in 
her  heart  for  him. 

It  was  a  new  experience  for  the  great  poten- 
tate. No  longer  a  leader  of  his  own  armies;  a 
prisoner  in  his  own  palace;  denied  all  sports  to 
exercise  his  man's  faculties,  —  she  alone  had 
changed  the  terrible  routine  of  his  life.  She  was 
his  sport.  He  laughed  again;  he  meant  to  play 
the  game  to  the  limit,  and  derive  from  it  all  the 
satisfaction  he  could,  since  the  love  he  wished 
was  denied  him.  He  would  hunt  her  spirit  and 
her  courage,  play  with  her  heart  and  torture 
it,  since  it  would  not  give  him  joy.  Exqui- 
sitely Oriental,  he  knew  neither  mercy  nor 
pity. 

"Have  I  not  shown  I  could  defy  the  law  by 
taking  Bayazet  away  from  thee,  at  his  age?" 
he  asked  gravely,  as  if  seeking  information. 

"Surely  my  lord  will  give  the  child  back  to 
his  mother!" 

21 


"As  I  took  the  baby  away  from  the  mother, 
so  I  may  hand  the  mother  over  to  another  man 
—  if  it  please  me." 

"A  woman  is  but  a  small  thing  in  this  world, 
my  lord;  but  at  least  she  has  power  over  her 
own  life." 

"Art  thou  threatening?" 

"No,  Padishah,  only  my  thoughts  made 
themselves  audible."  She  crossed  her  hands 
over  her  breast,  and  slowly  went  on:  "Be- 
cause Allah  meant  that  your  son  Bayazet 
should  come  to  life,  he  created  me.  There  are 
flowers  with  but  one  blossom.  I  am  such  a 
one."  She  bowed  very  low  before  him.  "Now 
that  you  have  the  blossom,  my  lord,  you  may 
crush  the  flower,  but  spare  the  blossom." 

"Thou  speakest  well,  my  beautiful  Kiza- 
tesh,  but  the  great  Allah  gives  the  power  of 
deciding  to  his  representative  on  earth.  As 
such  I  choose  that  thy  son  shall  be  taken  away 
from  thee;  and  "  —  he  pursed  up  his  lips  judi- 
cially—  "since  thou  defiest  the  wishes  of  thy 
lord,  thou  shalt  furthermore  be  given  to  an- 
other man.  I  shall  take  some  thought  as  to 
who  that  man  shall  be." 

22 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

With  these  words  and  a  graceful  wave  of  his 
hand  —  as  if  favorably  dismissing  some  peti- 
tioner —  he  went  from  the  room.  She  re- 
mained behind,  motionless,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  hands  loosely  clasped.  After  many  minutes 
a  spasm  passed  over  her.  She  opened  her  eyes 
and  raised  them  to  the  ceiling.  Slowly  she  out- 
stretched her  arms,  palms  upward,  and  in  this 
darkest  and  most  desperate  hour  of  her  life, 
she  turned  to  him  whom  she  called  Allah.  She 
prayed  that  he  might  guide  her,  might  show 
her  the  road  she  must  take,  which  she  could 
not  see  because  of  the  darkness  all  around  her. 
"There  must  be  a  way,  great  Allah,  there  must 
be  one.  It  cannot  be  that  thou  leavest  thy 
child  in  darkness.  Show  me  the  way,  Lord  of 
Eternity,  show  me  the  way,  so  that  I  may  do 
as  thou  wishest!" 

After  her  prayer,  a  certain  peace  descended 
upon  her.  Slowly  she  went  to  the  latticed  win- 
dow and  sat  by  it,  and  watched  what  she  could 
see  of  the  blue  sky.  There,  beyond  it,  lived  the 
great  Allah,  far  above  his  children  of  the  earth, 
yet  never  forgetting  that  he  was  their  heavenly 
father.  Now  and  again,  as  from  a  child  who 

23 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

has  ceased  to  weep,  a  sob  escaped  her,  but  when 
it  came,  it  contained  the  name  of  Allah. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  woman 
old  and  wrinkled  entered.  Her  sleeves  were 
rolled  up  to  her  elbows,  and  a  large  apron 
covered  her  entirely.  At  her  entrance  the 
room  was  filled  with  an  overpowering  per- 
fume. 

"My  sultana,  will  you  come  now  and  see? 
The  perfume  is  nearly  perfect." 

Kizatesh  Sultana  slowly  turned  her  atten- 
tion from  the  sky  to  the  woman,  but  made  no 
other  movement. 

"Come,  my  sweetest  sultana,  come  and  see. 
It  has  never  risen  to  such  a  beautiful  foam  as 
it  has  to-day." 

Kizatesh  Sultana  sighed.  "No,  I  do  not  wish 
to  come.  I  have  no  heart  for  perfumes  to-day." 

The  old  hanoum  took  a  couple  of  rapid 
strides  and  planted  herself  in  front  of  her  mis- 
tress, astonishment  and  indignation  depicted 
on  her  countenance. 

"You  do  not  care  to  come?  You  have  no 
heart  for  perfumes?" 

"Please,  Melek,  not  to-day." 
24 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

"You  will  find  your  heart  while  looking  into 
the  perfume,"  the  old  woman  said  with  deep 
reproach.  "No  matter  how  troubled  you  may 
be,  you  cannot  neglect  your  perfume.  Remem- 
ber, Kizatesh  Sultana,  your  perfume  is  you — 
the  best  in  you  —  the  you  that  attracts.  Did 
I  not  work  for  over  ten  years  to  bring  together 
this  combination?  And  then  did  I  not  keep  it 
a  secret,  until  I  should  find  one  most  suited  to 
it?  Three  years  I  waited,  and  on  the  day  of 
your  marriage,  when  your  foster  mother  asked 
me  if  I  could  produce  a  perfume  that  would 
express  you,  did  I  not  cry  out  at  once : '  I  have 
it!'  And  was  it  not  the  most  wonderful  cir- 
cumstance to  learn  afterwards  that  I  had 
dreamed  about  it  the  very  year  you  were  born? 
There  is  not  another  of  the  sultanas  who  has 
such  a  perfume.  They  have  all  tried  to  bribe 
me  to  give  them  the  recipe.  They  think  it  is 
your  perfume  that  makes  you  so  dear  to  the 
Commander  of  the  Faithful." 

Kizatesh  Sultana  started.  If  it  was  her  per- 
fume that  enthralled  the  Sultan,  then  in- 
stantly she  would  discard  it.  But  she  remem- 
bered that  the  Sultan  had  chosen  her  before 

25 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

this  perfume  had  been  hers.  She  was  glad  of 
this,  for  her  perfume  is  much  to  the  woman  of 
the  East.  Among  the  women  favored  by  for- 
tune, the  acquisition  of  a  personal  perfume  is 
one  of  the  great  events  of  life.  She  who  pro- 
duces such  a  perfume  is  given  an  honored  place 
in  the  household,  and  never  divulges  the  secret 
of  its  making  till  her  end  approaches.  On  her 
death-bed  she  will  confide  the  recipe  as  a  val- 
ued legacy  to  her  dearest  friend. 

Kizatesh  Sultana  rose  —  wearily,  it  is  true, 
yet  she  rose.  "Let  us  go,  then." 

They  walked  down  a  long  hall  to  the  per- 
fume room.  Melek  unlocked  it,  and  they  en- 
tered, while  the  two  eunuchs  who  had  guarded 
the  door  of  the  sultana  followed,  and  stationed 
themselves  outside.  The  perfume  room  was 
fitted  up  like  a  chemist's.  A  tall  iron  tripod, 
filled  with  burning  charcoal,  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room.  On  the  embers  sat  a  polished 
vessel  containing  an  iridescent,  green  liquid. 
The  two  women  stood  reverently  watching  its 
bubbling  contents.  A  wonderful  emerald  green 
was  the  predominating  color,  but  tremors  of 
gold  and  red  and  aqua-marine  shot  through  it, 

26 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

as  the  aurora  borealis  shoots  through  the  sum- 
mer night. 

Kizatesh  Sultana  had  no  thought  now  ex- 
cept for  the  precious  liquid  in  the  pot.  "Do 
you  think  the  bubbles  have  enough  of  the 
blue?"  she  asked. 

The  older  woman  leaned  forward  and  peered 
into  the  pot.  "Just  watch  till  the  red  begins  to 
strive  for  the  upper  hand,"  she  said  excitedly. 
"In  a  minute,  now,  you  will  see  the  perfect 
blue." 

Tensely  they  waited,  till  the  bubbles  began 
to  come  more  thickly,  rising  up  in  the  middle, 
and  scuttling  to  the  sides  of  the  pot,  the  red 
and  the  blue  seeming  to  fight  for  the  mastery 
in  the  iridescent  surface,  until  it  broke. 

"Yes,  it  is  perfect,"  the  sultana  admitted, 
delighted  as  a  child.  With  keen  pleasure  she 
inhaled  the  powerful  yet  delicate  perfume. 
Melek  was  right,  the  perfume  gave  her  heart, 
its  essence  expressed  her  individuality,  and  in 
its  iridescence  were  the  colors  she  always  wore. 
Her  gown  was  a  soft  satin  of  the  emerald  green, 
while  the  gold  and  blue  and  red  formed  the 
embroideries  on  itt " 

27 


THE   GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

Melek  had  been  attached  to  the  foster  mother 
of  Kizatesh  Sultana,  and  had  loved  Kizatesh 
ever  since  her  advent  to  the  palace.  She 
turned  from  the  bubbling  pot  to  survey  her 
mistress  with  critical  affection.  "  I  do  not  think 
the  red  on  your  gown  is  quite  the  color  in  the 
perfume,"  she  suggested.  "Yours  is  the  tint 
of  the  ruby:  that  in  the  pot  is  like  the  flower 
of  the  pomegranate.  Ask  the  Padishah  to  search 
the  world  to  find  you  a  jewel  of  that  color.  He 
will  do  it,  for  you  are  his  favorite." 

The  word  "favorite"  brought  back  to 
Kizatesh  Sultana  the  troubles  of  the  day,  and 
tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

Instantly  Melek's  arms  were  around  her. 
"Don't,  darling,"  she  pleaded;  "don't  cry. 
He  will,  of  course,  give  you  back  Bayazet.  He 
only  does  it  to  punish  you  a  bit  —  a  lovers' 
quarrel.  And  I  am  not  going  to  wait  till  my 
death-bed  to  tell  you  the  secret  of  your  per- 
fume; I  will  give  it  to  you  to-day." 


CHAPTER  III 

ADAMS  HEARS  A   SOB 

LALA  SHEDDIN  was  the  head  eunuch  of  the 
imperial  palace,  and  for  years  he  had  been  the 
trusted  man  of  the  household  of  the  ruler  of 
Turkey.  He  was  tall  and  heavily  built,  and  his 
small,  alert  eyes  indicated  the  rare  intelligence 
of  the  man.  He  had  the  ability  both  to  judge 
men  correctly  and  to  make  friends.  He  spoke 
English  and  French  readily. 

He  conducted  Adams  in  person  to  the  pavil- 
ion set  apart  for  the  tutor.  It  was  a  coquettish 
little  rococo  structure,  near  the  shore  of  the 
Bosphorus.  On  the  land  side  it  was  hidden 
from  sight  by  a  large  grove  of  trees,  which  con- 
tinued all  the  way  to  the  palace.  It  consisted 
of  a  spacious  sitting-room  and  dining-room 
below,  of  a  bedroom,  another  sitting-room,  a 
dressing-room,  and  a  tiny  Turkish  bath  above. 
The  upper  rooms  all  had  balconies,  which 
formed  the  roof  of  the  large  porch  downstairs. 

29 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

It  was  extravagantly  furnished,  in  shocking 
European  style. 

Lala  Sheddin  opened  the  large  glass  door 
of  the  sitting-room,  and  bade  the  Englishman 
enter.  Inside  he  offered  him  an  American 
rocking-chair,  and  himself  sat  down  cross- 
legged  on  a  divan  covered  with  Turkish  rugs. 

"I  like  your  face,"  he  observed,  without 
preamble,  "  and  if  you  come  here  with  the  idea 
of  staying,  I  think  you  may." 

The  Englishman  nodded. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Twenty-eight." 

"You  look  older,"  the  eunuch  commented 
frankly.  He  glanced  from  the  other's  face  to 
his  hands.  "Perhaps  life  has  n't  treated  you 
right." 

"Perhaps  /  have  n't  treated  life  right." 

The  eunuch  leaned  over  and  took  the  Eng- 
lishman's hand.  He  examined  it  carefully,  in- 
side and  out. 

"You  have  belonged  to  the  working  class 
not  a  very  long  time,"  was  his  comment. 

To  this  the  Englishman  made  no  reply. 

"I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  what  your  life 
30 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

has  been,"  the  eunuch  continued.  "All  I  de- 
mand is  that  your  life  shall  be  what  I  want  it 
to  be  while  you  are  here."  He  dropped  the 
other's  hand.  "Whether  you  stay  here  a  very 
short  time,  or  a  very  long  one,  will  depend  on 
whether  you  do  as  I  say  or  not." 

The  Englishman  nodded. 

"There  are  twenty-three  princes  in  all. 
Those  that  you  will  see  range  from  fourteen 
and  fifteen,  down  to  nine.  You  will  take  your 
midday  meal  with  some  of  them,  and  teach 
them  your  manner  of  eating.  You  will  ride  and 
drive  with  them  in  the  morning,  and  read  the 
Koran  with  them  in  English.  In  the  afternoon 
again  you  will  ride  and  drive,  and  in  the  even- 
ing some  may  wish  to  come  and  play  backgam- 
mon with  you.  They  will  teach  it  to  you  if  you 
do  not  know  it.  You  are  always  to  speak  Eng- 
lish with  them.  I  like  English  better  than 
French.  It  does  not  have  so  many  compli- 
ments." 

Adams  smiled,  and  for  a  while  the  two  men 
remained  silent.  Presently  Lala  Sheddin  pro- 
ceeded to  drive  his  instructions  more  firmly 
into  the  mind  of  the  tutor. 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

"You  are  to  teach  them  the  art  of  riding, 
of  driving,  and  of  eating,  as  practiced  in  your 
country.  You  may  sometimes  tell  them  stories 
—  but  leave  the  words  'king*  and*  God*  out 
of  them."  After  another  pause,  he  inquired 
lightly:  "You  see  no  necessity  of  asking  ques- 
tions? Or  of  answering  questions  that  do  not 
have  to  do  with  the  art  of  riding  and  driving 
and  eating?" 

"No,"  the  tutor  replied. 

"That  is  well.  Oriental  boys  are  different 
from  English  boys,  and  Ottoman  princes  are 
different  from  all  other  boys  and  princes  of  the 
world.  You  are  their  humble  servitor.  Do  not 
ever  presume  to  make  them  obey  you,  if  they 
do  not  wish  to;  for  the  blood  of  the  great  Oth- 
man  is  in  their  veins  —  and  you  are  only  of 
common  clay." 

The  Englishman  began  to  have  misgivings. 
How  could  he  teach,  without  the  slightest  dis- 
cipline? And  the  idea  of  being  anybody's  servi- 
tor galled  him.  He  made  no  comment,  how- 
ever, but  waited  for  his  instructor  to  go  on. 

"Whatever  happens  to  you  —  tell  me.  Do 
not  keep  it  to  yourself.  I  was  born  here,  and  so 

32 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

were  several  mothers  that  came  before  my 
mother.  I  understand  things  here  which  you 
cannot." 

Adams  inclined  his  head. 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  overspread  the  fea- 
tures of  the  keeper  of  the  Sultan's  women.  He 
rolled  his  eyes  until  the  whites  alone  were 
visible. 

"You  ask  no  explanations?" 

The  new  tutor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  head  eunuch  arose,  and  saluted  the 
Briton  with  manifest  admiration. 

"Mashallah!  You  are  the  only  man  of  up- 
ward of  a  hundred  who  did  not  let  his  tongue 
flow  on  like  a  babbling  brook.  Make  yourself 
at  home.  This  whole  pavilion  belongs  to  you, 
and  you  shall  have  your  body  servant."  The 
eunuch  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  then 
turned  and  added:  "My  imperial  master  is 
averse  to  sociability.  Receive  no  visitors,  ex- 
cept Manlove  Pasha,  without  special  permis- 
sion, —  and  the  less  you  ask  permission,  the 
better.  If  money  is  what  you  wish,  you  can 
leave  here  a  rich  man." 

He  salaamed,  and  left  the  room. 
33 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

When  the  Englishman  was  alone  he  sat  for 
a  long  time  gazing  out  upon  the  sea,  his  mind 
reviewing  the  words  of  the  eunuch.  In  his 
career  he  had  rolled  into  and  out  of  many 
queer  places,  but  this  seemed  to  him  the 
queerest. 

"What  can  a  tutor  do  without  discipline?" 
he  muttered.  He  had  meant  to  stick  to  this 
place,  to  make  good  at  it,  not  only  for  himself, 
but  for  the  trust  Manlove  had  placed  in  him. 
But  could  he  succeed  where  he  had  to  remem- 
ber that  his  pupils  were  of  the  blood  of  Othman 
and  he  himself  of  common  clay?  He  laughed 
silently,  yet  the  lines  of  his  face  showed  dogged 
determination.  The  sportsman  in  him  was 
roused,  and  his  imagination  was  also  touched. 

An  excellent  luncheon  was  brought  to  him 
from  the  palace  by  the  man  who  was  to  be  his 
bodyguard  —  and  who  was  to  spy  upon  him 
and  report  all  his  movements  to  the  head 
eunuch.  A  few  hours  after  his  meal,  Lala 
Sheddin  appeared,  wearing  a  frock  coat  and 
gaudy  waistcoat. 

"  I  will  take  you  to  the  princes  now.  They 
are  all  assembled." 

34 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

The  Englishman  followed  his  guide.  He  was 
apparently  unruffled  and  undisturbed;  yet  un- 
derneath his  British  quietness  he  was  not  a 
little  excited  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  the 
sons  of  the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  who  were  to  be 
his  pupils,  and  with  whom  he  must  attempt 
not  the  slightest  discipline.  The  new  career 
opening  before  him  was  both  difficult  and  full 
of  piquancy. 

The  two  men  set  out  in  silence.  As  they 
neared  the  palace,  windows  were  opened,  and 
upon  the  gilded  lattices  the  shadows  of  women's 
heads  were  thrown.  Burton  Adams  did  not  see 
them :  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  sounds. 

Out  of  the  corners  of  his  small,  intelligent 
eyes  the  eunuch  observed  him.  Presently  he 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"You  are  a  very  wise  man,  my  friend.  You 
would  -have  seen  nothing  but  shadows  had  you 
raised  your  eyes,  but  you  did  not.  Mashallah ! " 
With  a  touch  of  real  friendliness  in  his  tone  the 
eunuch  added:  "I  need  not  tell  you  that  it 
would  be  safer  never  to  lift  your  eyes  when  you 
hear  the  opening  of  a  window." 

35 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

Yet  behind  those  lattices  were  not  women 
peeping  forth  from  idle  curiosity.  The  unseen 
eyes  were  not  filled  with  coquetry,  but  with  all 
the  anxious  intelligence  of  mothers'  hearts, 
endeavoring  to  divine  the  soul  of  this  for- 
eigner —  approved  of  by  Lala  Sheddin  —  who 
was  to  rob  some  of  them  of  their  sons,  to  re- 
place for  all  of  them  the  mothers'  care. 

In  a  sumptuous  and  spacious  room  the  im- 
perial princes  were  assembled  to  meet  their 
tutor.  They  were  seated  cross-legged  on  divans 
covered  with  superb  rugs.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  dark-red  velvet,  on  which  were  em- 
broidered, in  gold  thread,  various  mottoes  of 
the  house  of  Othman.  The  eunuch  first  spoke 
to  the  princes  in  Turkish;  then  in  English  he 
introduced  the  new  tutor  and  left  them  together. 

His  pupils  greeted  Adams  without  any  of 
the  concealed  hostility  with  which  boys  of  an- 
other race  and  station  would  have  regarded 
a  new  tutor.  Their  glances  were  indifferent. 
They  smiled  at  him,  with  smiles  old  and  wise. 
They  were  handsome  boys,  some  of  them  very 
handsome,  and  they  were  dazzlingly  attired 
in  the  uniforms  of  the  various  regiments  of 

36 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

which  they  were  the  honorary  commanders. 
But  they  lacked  youth  and  vitality :  it  seemed 
as  if  the  shadow  of  the  Ottoman  throne  had 
dampened  their  spirits  from  birth. 

The  princes  acknowledged  the  introduction 
by  touching  their  first  two  fingers  to  their  lips 
and  then  to  their  fezes.  Their  ages  ranged  from 
fifteen  to  ten;  but  there  was  also  a  little  one  of 
about  four,  dressed  in  a  colonel's  uniform,  with 
a  tiny  sword  at  his  side.  He  did  not  salute 
with  the  others;  he  came  and  planted  himself 
before  Burton  Adams,  and  volubly  addressed 
him  in  Turkish. 

"It  is  the  first  time  he  leaves  his  mother's 
lap.  He  has  never  seen  a  foreigner,  and  he 
wishes  to  be  saluted  according  to  your  own  cus- 
tom." The  prince  who  volunteered  this  ex- 
planation was  the  eldest,  and  of  the  few  who 
already  knew  English.  He  spoke  so  casually 
and  so  indolently  that  Adams  felt  sure  that 
he  should  never  be  troubled  by  this  one  with 
questions  which  must  not  be  answered.  Ex- 
tending his  hand  to  the  miniature  colonel  the 
Englishman  said  slowly  and  distinctly:  "Good- 
evening  to  you,  my  prince." 

37 


THE   GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

The  baby  colonel  screwed  up  his  face,  and 
repeated  the  whole  sentence  with  wonderful 
mimicry,  whereupon  his  oldest  brother  ex- 
plained to  him  that  the  last  two  words  were 
only  meant  for  him,  and  not  for  the  tutor. 
'  "Good-evening,"  said  the  Englishman  again, 
shaking  the  soft  baby  hand;  and  the  little 
one  repeated,  "Good-evening!" 

The  other  princes  signified  their  desire  to 
be  shaken  by  the  hand  also,  and  leaving  the 
colonel,  the  tutor  advanced  toward  them.  He 
had  reckoned  without  the  colonel,  however, 
who,  at  this  desertion,  stamped  his  foot,  drew 
his  sword  from  its  bejeweled  scabbard,  and 
with  eyes  flashing  and  lips  quivering  with  an- 
ger, cried:  — 

"Gelbourda!" 

Adams,  smiling,  returned  to  the  angry  boy, 
and  holding  out  his  hand  again,  said:  "Good- 
evening,  my  prince." 

At  that,  the  colonel's  wrath  departed. 
Quickly  he  put  his  sword  back  into  its  scab- 
bard, and  extended  both  his  arms  to  be  lifted 
up.  The  Englishman  stooped  and  picked  up 
the  boy,  rather  awkwardly.  The  little  one  put 

38 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

his  arms  around  the  man's  neck,  and  nestled 
close  and  lovingly  to  him. 

With  him  in  his  arms  Adams  went  from 
prince  to  prince,  shaking  hands  and  "good- 
eveninging"  them. 

"Now,  sit  down,"  said  the  eldest,  "and  tell 
us  a  story." 

Adams  took  a  seat.  The  baby  colonel,  stand- 
ing up  on  his  knees,  again  began  to  talk  to  him. 

"He  wishes  to  know  your  name,"  his  brother 
translated. 

"Adams,"  replied  the  Englishman. 

The  little  one  clapped  his  hands  together  and 
laughed.  "Addam,  Addam,"  he  repeated. 
"Bayazet  Addam!" 

"Addam  means  'a  man'  in  our  language," 
languidly  explained  the  interpreting  prince, 
"and  my  little  brother  says  that  you  are  Bay- 
azet's  man;  for  that  is  his  name.  He  wants 
you  for  his  man." 

"Tell  him  that  I  will  be  his  man." 

When  this  was  translated,  the  young  colonel 
raised  his  little  face  and  bestowed  a  kiss  on  the 
tutor's  cheek. 

"I  will  be  his  man,  and  he  shall  be  my  boy," 
39 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

went  on  the  man;  but  when  this  was  translated, 
the  colonel  shook  his  head  vehemently,  and 
spoke  very  fast. 

"He  says  he  is  a  young  lion  and  only  be- 
longs to  his  mother.  You  are  his  man  and  his 
slave,  and  he  is  your  master,  —  and  now  tell 
us  a  story." 

It  was  curiously  difficult  for  Adams  to  think 
of  a  story  that  did  not  contain  some  reference 
to  the  forbidden  topics.  At  the  same  time  he 
did  not  wish  to  hesitate;  so  he  started  at  ran- 
dom, and  gradually  found  his  way  into  Robin 
Hood. 

The  colonel  attentively  watched  the  lips  of 
the  man,  for  a  time,  but,  understanding  noth- 
ing, he  finally  nestled  his  head  against  the  man's 
breast  and  closed  his  eyes.  His  right  hand 
gradually  worked  its  way  through  the  Eng- 
lishman's coat  and  shirt  till  it  found  the  bare 
skin,  which  he  began  to  pat  softly,  and  then 
fell  asleep. 

After  the  story  was  finished,  the  boys  asked 
for  a  song,  and  Adams  sang  them  a  nursery 
rhyme. 

The  bodyguards  of  the  princes  now  began  to 
40 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

arrive,  and  one  after  another  the  latter  sa- 
laamed and  departed.  He  was  left  alone  with 
the  still  sleeping  child  in  his  arms.  Lala  Shed- 
din  had  given  him  no  instructions  as  to  what 
to  do  after  the  princes  left  him,  and  he  sat 
there  waiting.  The  nestling  child,  the  little 
hand  on  his  chest,  were  giving  him  a  sensation 
sweet  in  its  tenderness.  He  had  never  before 
held  a  child  thus  in  his  arms,  and  it  thrilled  him. 
He  watched  it  lovingly,  noticing  how  clear  the 
skin  was,  how  exquisite  the  shape  of  the  eye- 
brows, how  well-cut  the  baby  mouth,  and  how 
the  whole  face,  in  spite  of  its  four  years,  al- 
ready denoted  character.  The  little  colonel 
was  different  from  his  brothers.  The  English- 
man wondered  with  regret  whether  in  a  few 
years  this  boy,  too,  would  become  languid  and 
will-less,  as  the  others  seemed  to  be. 

He  bent  down  and  gently  kissed  the  sleeping 
child. 

A  convulsive  sob  rent  the  air.  Burton 
Adams  was  startled.  It  came  from  so  near 
that  he  became  alarmed  lest  in  raising  his  eyes 
he  should  find  himself  face  to  face  with  a  woman 
of  the  harem,  whom  he  ought  never  to  see. 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Who  was  she?  Where  was  she?  He  hardly 
dared  to  think.  He  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  bent 
on  his  charge,  while  minute  after  minute  lived 
its  short  life  of  sixty  seconds,  which  seemed 
like  hours  to  the  Englishman 


CHAPTER  IV 
"THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  HURRICANE" 

AT  last  Lala  Sheddin  came  into  the  room, 
and  burst  out  laughing  at  the  sight  of  the  Eng- 
lishman with  the  child  in  his  arms. 

"I  did  not  tell  you  that  you  were  to  be 
nursemaid,  too,"  and  again  he  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "Give  me  the  boy  now." 

In  the  exchange,  the  boy  awoke,  and  set  up 
a  yell  that  demonstrated  the  power  of  his 
lungs.  Then  he  kicked  the  head  eunuch  with 
the  might  of  his  feet,  and  beat  his  face  with  the 
strength  of  his  clenched  fists. 

"Benim  Addam!"  he  yelled,  and  held  out 
his  arms  toward  the  tutor. 

"Let  me  have  him,"  said  Adams.  "I  don't 
mind  being  nursemaid  to  him.  In  fact,  I  rather 
like  it."  As  soon  as  the  child  was  back  in  his 
arms,  he  nestled  down  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  I  might  do;  I'll  take 
him  to  my  pavilion  and  keep  him  till  dinner 


time." 


43 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"I  wish  you  would,"  Lala  Sheddin  replied. 
"The  truth  is  he  is  something  of  an  embarrass- 
ment to  me  just  now."  He  caressed  his  beard- 
less chin  as  he  looked  reflectively  at  the  infant. 
"Let  us  go  to  your  pavilion,  then,  since  you 
are  willing  to  take  charge  of  him  for  a  time." 
He  led  the  way,  and  the  Englishman  followed, 
carrying  his  sleeping  charge  awkwardly  but 
securely. 

As  they  went  out  of  the  door,  the  figure  of  a 
woman  darted  out  from  behind  a  portiere,  and 
disappeared  down  the  dim  corridor. 

The  eunuch  stopped  dumbfounded.  "Allah! 
She  will  bring  death  upon  herself  yet,"  he  mut- 
tered. As  soon  as  they  were  out  in  the  garden, 
he  asked  Adams:  "Did  you  know  there  was 
some  one  in  the  room  with  you?" 

,"I  heard  some  one  sobbing." 

"Did  you  know  it  was  a  woman?" 

"I  thought  so." 

"Did  you  see  her?" 

"No.  I  did  not  know  where  she  was,  and  I 
kept  my  eyes  on  the  child." 

"Do  you  think  any  of  the  princes  heard 
what  you  heard?" 

44 


THE   GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

"No,  I  am  sure  they  did  not.  I  only  heard 
her  after  I  was  alone  with  the  child." 

Lala  Sheddin  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  little 
time;  then  he  surprised  the  Englishman  by  a 
confidence. 

"That  was  Bayazet's  mother.  She  is  an  un- 
happy woman." 

Pity  stirred  within  the  Englishman  for  this 
woman  whose  sobs  he  had  heard  and  whose 
slender  figure  he  had  seen  darting  away  down 
the  corridor.  So  this  was  the  mother  whose 
"young  lion"  he  was  carrying.  Involuntarily 
he  pressed  the  child  a  bit  closer  in  his  arms. 
Poor  little  chap,  to  be  born  into  all  this  gor- 
geousness,  in  which  the  spirit  of  a  man  became 
extinguished  before  it  had  time  to  start.  Poor 
little  chap,  he  thought  again.  Well,  if  he  could 
befriend  him,  he  assuredly  would  do  so. 

Lala  Sheddin  left  him  at  the  entrance  of  the 
pavilion.  "I  will  return  for  the  child  as  soon  as 
I  can.  At  present  I  have  some  urgent  business 
to  attend  to." 

He  spoke  with  such  utter  weariness  that 
Adams  surmised  that  the  position  of  head 
eunuch  in  the  Ottoman  palace  included  many 

45 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

tasks  from  which  the  soul  of  the  powerful  offi- 
cial revolted. 

The  Englishman  sat  down  in  his  sitting-room 
carefully,  so  as  not  to  awaken  the  child.  He 
smiled  rather  grimly,  as  he  thought  of  his  pipe 
and  tobacco,  which  he  was  foregoing.  This 
acting  as  nursemaid  had  its  humorous  side, 
yet  he  did  not  regret  his  forced  abstention  from 
smoking.  Bayazet  had  nestled  his  way  straight 
into  the  lonely  Englishman's  heart. 

After  half  an  hour  Bayazet  suddenly  opened 
his  large  dark  eyes,  and  smiled.  He  stretched 
himself,  then  sat  bolt  upright,  and  patted  the 
Englishman.  "My  man,"  he  said;  "my  man." 

"That  I  am,  old  chap." 

Bayazet  nodded,  and  volubly  added  many 
other  remarks.  From  time  to  time  Adams  took 
up  the  conversation,  and  thus  the  two  talked 
to  each  other,  neither  one  understanding  a 
word  the  other  said,  yet  both  of  them  confident 
that  they  were  getting  along  capitally  together. 
Now  and  then  the  boy  would  repeat  some 
English  word  that  struck  his  fancy. 

-Then  there  came  a  silence;  the  boy  grew 
restless,  and  then  began  to  ask  for  something 

46 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

he  wished  very  much,  his  large  brown  eyes 
watching  his  tutor  with  hopeful  expectations. 

"I'd  give  it  to  you  if  I  could,"  Adams  said, 
and  bent  over  and  kissed  the  child's  eyes. 

Bayazet  laughed;  then  plaintively  began 
asking  over  and  over  again:  "Ya  Ana!  Ya 
Ana!" 

"  I  wonder  if  he  wants  a  drink  of  water.  Ya 
Ana,"  Adams  said  meditatively,  trying  to  guess 
the  meaning  of  the  word. 

"Evet  —  ya  Ana!"  the  child  cried  hopefully. 

"Very  well,  we'll  try  you  with  water." 
Adams  placed  the  child  on  a  divan,  went  into 
the  dining-room,  and  returned  with  a  glass  of 
water,  which  he  offered  to  his  pupil. 

Rage  and  disappointment  came  into  the  face 
of  the  boy,  and  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  he 
sent  glass  and  water  out  of  the  window.  Then 
he  began  to  laugh  at  his  own  act,  and  throw- 
ing his  arms  around  the  Englishman's  neck, 
he  kissed  him  several  times,  though  still  he  kept 
on  repeating  "Anassim!" 

The  tutor  patted  the  child  soothingly.  He 
was  aware  of  a  subtle  perfume  about  the  boy,  so 
faint  and  delicate  as  hardly  to  be  perceptible, 

47 


THE   GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

yet  so  different  from  any  he  had  ever  inhaled 
before  that  he  felt  that  he  should  recognize  it 
again  anywhere.  The  boy  cuddled  up  to  him 
and  patted  him  in  return,  and  endeared  him- 
self to  the  man  in  a  way  Adams  would  have 
thought  impossible  a  few  hours  before. 

But  the  child  was  not  satisfied.  He  rose,  put 
his  two  hands  on  the  man's  shoulders,  and 
peering  intently  into  his  eyes,  said  wistfully: 
"Addam,  anassim  isterim." 

"Yes,  my  boy,  if  I  only  knew  what  'anas- 
sim' was,  I'd  do  my  best  to  get  it  for  you." 

"  Evet,  evet,  anassim,"  the  boy  said  eagerly. 

"Let's  try  games  instead."  Adams  rose  and 
tossed  the  child  up  toward  the  ceiling,  catch- 
ing him  as  he  came  down.  This  game  de- 
lighted Bayazet  so  that  he  forgot  his  other 
wants.  Higher  and  higher  did  he  fly,  filling 
the  room  with  his  childish  cries  of  delight. 
After  the  tutor  thought  he  had  been  tossed 
enough,  he  dropped  to  the  ground  on  all  fours, 
and  was  horse  for  the  little  colonel.  Bayazet 
grasped  hold  of  his  collar  and  trotted  and  gal- 
loped around  the  room  in  ecstasy. 

Thus  engaged  Lala  Sheddin  found  them. 
48 


"Well,  you  do  make  a  good  nursemaid.  You 
must  have  boys  of  your  own." 

"  No ;  but  it 's  easy  to  know  what  a  boy  would 
like,"  Adams  replied,  a  trifle  sheepish  at  being 
found  in  so  undignified  a  position. 

The  eunuch  spoke  to  the  child,  and  to 
Adams's  surprise,  the  little  prince  gladly  went 
to  him,  his  face  lighting  up  with  joy,  crying, 
"Anassim!" 

"He  has  been  wanting  'anassim'  for  a  long 
time,"  said  the  Englishman.  "I  was  trying  to 
distract  his  mind  from  it  with  games,  since  I 
could  not  give  it  to  him.  What  is  it?" 

"It means,"  said  the  eunuch  wearily,  "'my 
mother.'  "  He  patted  the  child.  "Poor  little 
fellow!" 

Bayazet  shook  hands  with  his  tutor. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Adams  formally.  "Hope 
I  shall  see  you  to-morrow." 

"Good-bye,"  repeated  the  little  prince; 
"hopishe — "  He  could  get  no  further  in  this 
new  language;  but  when  the  eunuch  trans- 
lated the  words  to  him,  he  replied  volubly  in 
Turkish  that  he  was  surely  coming,  since  he 
loved  "his  man"  very  much. 

49 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

The  Englishman  dined  alone  that  night. 
Afterwards  he  paced  listlessly  up  and  down  his 
veranda,  facing  the  water.  He  would  have 
liked  to  walk  down  to  its  edge,  but  did  not 
consider  it  prudent  to  do  so  without  asking 
whether  he  might.  So  many  things  were  com- 
ing into  his  mind  to  ask  about  that  he  took 
out  his  notebook  and  jotted  them  down.  Pres- 
ently he  reentered  his  pavilion  and  began  to 
explore  that.  Luxuriously  furnished,  by  a  little 
rearrangement  it  could  be  made  quite  home- 
like and  comfortable.  He  made  another  entry 
in  his  notebook. 

Examining  the  various  cupboards  and  closets, 
he  found  them  well  stocked  with  cigars,  cigar- 
ettes, sweetmeats,  and  other  delicacies.  He 
went  upstairs,  and  everywhere  found  all  his 
material  needs  supplied.  He  stepped  out  on 
the  balcony  outside  his  sleeping-room.  It  was 
half-filled  with  the  wide-spreading  branches  of 
a  huge  wistaria  tree.  Night  or  day,  he  could 
see  nothing  from  this  balcony,  which  faced  the 
palace,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  from  him. 

He  went  out  on  the  balcony  of  his  upstairs 
sitting-room.  The  view  from  here  was  enchant- 

50 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

ing.  He  ''stretched  himself  on  a  low  wicker 
divan  and  let  his  thoughts  play  with  his  past 
and  wander  into  the  future.  What  would  that 
future  be  ?  It  was  promising  enough  in  a  way. 
He  no  longer  dreaded  the  absence  of  discipline : 
he  felt  certain  that  he  should  never  need  it. 
His  pupils  lacked  the  force  and  high  spirits 
which  call  for  discipline  —  all  except  Bayazet. 
What  a  delightful  little  chap  he  was.  He  had 
spirit  enough,  and  he  meant  to  foster,  not  to 
break,  that  spirit.  A  misgiving  followed  the 
pleasure  he  had  in  the  thought  of  the  lad. 
Suppose  that  Bayazet  were  not  to  come  again  ? 
He  was  so  little  he  might  easily  be  returned 
to  the  nursery  for  another  five  years.  Of  a 
sudden  Adams's  position  as  tutor  became  col- 
orless and  without  interest. 

The  last  light  of  the  afterglow  faded  from 
the  sky;  the  darkness  came;  and  the  stars 
shone  down  from  the  Oriental  sky  with  a  bril- 
liance he  had  never  seen  equaled  elsewhere;  and 
in  the  starlight  the  landscape  took  on  fantastic 
shapes,  as  if  it  were  a  part  of  his  reverie,  and 
were  changing  as  magically  as  his  own  fortunes 
had  in  the  last  few  days. 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

Adams  did  not  move  until  he  was  roused 
by  hearing  the  voice  of  Lala  Sheddin  calling 
his  name  from  below. 

"I  am  coming,"  he  answered. 

In  the  sitting-room  downstairs  Lala  Sheddin 
awaited  him,  an  anxious  expression  on  his  face. 
"  Come  up  with  me  to  the  palace,"  he  said. 

"Anything  the  matter?" 

"Bayazet  has  cried  himself  into  a  fever.  He 
is  still  crying,  and  we  can  do  nothing  to  stop 
him." 

"Why  is  he  crying?" 

"Because  he  wants  something  he  must  not 
have.  Maybe  you  will  be  able  to  divert  him 
again,  as  you  did  this  afternoon." 

They  heard  the  child's  screams  as  soon  as 
they  came  near  the  palace.  "My  mother!  I 
want  my  mother  —  my  beautiful  mother! 
Little  lion  wants  his  mother." 

The  tutor  found  the  child  sitting  on  a  couch, 
swaying  to  and  fro,  and  never  ceasing  his  cries. 
A  bewildered  crowd  of  courtiers  stood  about 
him,  manifestly  at  their  wits'  ends.  At  sight 
of  the  tutor  Bayazet  threw  out  his  arms  to- 
ward him.  "Oh,  my  man,"  he  wailed,  "these 

52 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

beasts,  these  dogs  keep  me  from  my  mother. 
I  want  my  mother!  Take  me  to  her." 

The  Englishman  took  the  boy  in  his  arms, 
and  picked  up  a  coverlet  to  wrap  him  in. 
Bayazet  kicked  it  away,  too  feverish  to  stand 
any  more  warmth. 

Adams  talked  soothingly  to  the  child,  who 
listened  attentively,  his  little  soul  in  his  big 
eyes.  Seeing  him  quiet,  the  Englishman  tried 
to  play  some  game  with  him,  but  the  child 
refused  to  play.  He  was  not  screaming  now, 
but  large  round  tears  were  dripping  down  his 
flushed  cheeks.  Over  and  over  again  he  ex- 
plained to  the  tutor  that  he  was  tired,  that  he 
wanted  to  go  to  sleep  —  that  he  wanted  to  go 
to  sleep  with  his  mother,  and  that  he  was  kept 
from  going  to  sleep  with  his  mother.  "Take 
me  to  her!  Take  me  to  her!"  he  commanded. 

When  he  realized  that  his  beloved  man  was 
failing  him  also,  he  began  to  scream  again, 
filling  the  palace  with  his  cries. 

Of  a  sudden  a  hush  descended  upon  the  room; 
all  the  men  salaamed  to  the  ground,  and  the 
Englishman  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  ruler  of  this  land.  Before  the  Sultan  Adams 

53 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

alone  stood  erect,  holding  the  child  in  his 
arms. 

Bayazet  stopped  his  cries,  and  held  out  his 
arms  to  his  father.  "Oh,  my  dear  father,  take 
me  to  my  mother,  take  me  to  my  mother,"  he 
begged. 

The  Sultan  frowned  upon  the  child.  "You 
are  displeasing  me  very  much.  You  are  making 
too  much  noise.  It  is  by  my  express  wish  that 
you  have  been  taken  away  from  her,  and  that 
you  are  going  to  live  like  a  man  in  this  part 
of  the  house,  and  not  be  coddled  like  a  baby. 
To-day  you  have  been  made  a  colonel,  and  a 
sword  has  been  belted  on  you.  You  are  dis- 
gracing both  your  uniform  and  your  sword  by 
yelling  like  an  infant.  I  wish  you  to  cease,  and 
act  as  befits  a  man  and  a  colonel." 

The  Englishman  was  astonished  at  the  ex- 
pression that  appeared  on  the  child's  face.  He 
would  not  have  imagined  that  it  could  have 
depicted  so  much  rage.  The  boy  clenched  his 
fists  and  shook  them  in  the  air. 

"I  am  not  a  man.  I  am  only  a  young  lion, 
and  I  want  my  mother  —  my  mother!  my 
mother!"  His  screams  were  terrifying. 

54 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"Your  majesty,"  Adams  said,  "I  am  afraid 
he  will  kill  himself  with  screaming." 

The  Sultan  spoke  again  to  the  child,  who 
hushed  his  howling  to  listen;  but  finding  his 
mother  still  denied  him,  started  in  afresh. 

Like  a  whirlwind  some  one  leaped  into  the 
room.  The  men  all  fell  to  the  floor,  and  covered 
their  faces,  as  the  small,  lithe  figure  of  a  woman 
sprang  past  the  Sultan,  wrenched  the  child 
from  the  Englishman's  arms,  and  tore  out  of  -1'- 
the  room  with  the  same  speed  with  which  she 
had  entered  it. 

The  men  remained  prostrate.  The  Sultan's 
face  was  dark  and  passionate.  He  spoke  to 
the  Englishman  in  tones  full  of  menace :  — 

"You  have  dared  to  raise  your  eyes  to  the 
face  of  one  of  my  wives!" 

An  Oriental  would  have  lied.  The  English- 
man only  said:  "Was  it  a  woman,  your  maj- 
esty? I  thought  it  was  the  spirit  of  a  hurri- 


cane." 


The  Sultan  relaxed.  "You  have  named  her, 
man.  You  have  named  her  —  the  spirit  of  the 
hurricane!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  TUTOR'S  FIRST  DAYS 

ALTHOUGH  it  was  late  when  he  was  again 
alone  in  his  pavilion,  the  imperial  tutor  did 
not  prepare  for  his  night's  rest.  He  felt  that  he 
wanted  none.  As  before,  he  stretched  himself 
out  on  the  wicker  divan,  in  the  warm  night  air, 
and  became  lost  in  reverie.  From  time  to  time 
he  admonished  himself  with  "You  are  an  ass, 
Lionel!"  from  which  one  might  have  inferred 
that  he  did  not  like  the  trend  of  his  thoughts, 
were  it  not  that  man  often  takes  the  keenest 
interest  in  life  when  he  is  able  thus  to  address 
himself. 

Even  as  he  said  the  words  he  would  bring 
his  hand  to  his  lips  —  the  hand  she  had  touched 
with  her  own  when  she  had  torn  her  son  from 
his  arms.  On  his  hand  and  his  coat-sleeve 
there  still  lingered  the  faintest  odor  of  her  per- 
fume, the  same  perfume  he  had  noticed  on 
Bayazet. 

"The  spirit  of  a  hurricane!"  No,  that  was 
56 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

blasphemy!  She  was  the  spirit  of  all  that  was 
most  loving  and  tender  —  and  unhappy.  What 
a  dark  country  was  this  that  a  man  might  not 
even  come  to  the  assistance  of  such  a  one  as 
she.  Yet  powerless  to  do  anything  to  help  her, 
he  was  glad  that  he-  was  at  least  near  her,  was 
within  the  same  walled  enclosure  as  she.  At 
this  point  again  Adams  shook  himself,  like  a 
dog  coming  out  of  the  water,  and  murmured, 
" Lionel,  you  are  an  ass!" 

Just  before  day  he  must  have  dozed  off,  for 
when  he  again  was  conscious  it  was  broad  day- 
light. He  sprang  up  and  went  downstairs. 
His  servitor  was  already  there,  and  a  few  min- 
utes later  brought  him  a  cup  of  black  coffee. 
Then  the  Turk  started  a  conversation  in  signs, 
and,  unable  to  make  the  Englishman  under- 
stand, took  him  by  the  hand  and  conducted 
him  to  the  bath-house,  reached  by  a  covered 
balcony.  Small  as  it  was,  it  stood  by  itself,  in 
order  that  the  heat  might  not  come  into  the 
pavilion.  After  bath  and  breakfast  Lala  Shed- 
din  arrived,  in  a  gloomy  mood.  He  gave  some 
brief  instructions  and  departed. 

At  nine,  the  first  group  of  princes  arrived. 
57 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

They  were  the  eldest,  and  the  eldest  among 
them  salaamed  gracefully  and  took  his  seat  on 
the  divan.  Although  they  were  all  about  the 
same  age,  the  etiquette  of  seniority  was  rig- 
idly observed.  The  second  in  age  only  took 
his  place  after  the  first  had  indicated  that  he 
might,  by  saluting  him.  He  in  turn  salaamed 
to  the  one  who  was  to  follow  him;  and  thus, 
one  by  one,  all  six  took  their  seats.  All  were 
dressed  in  their  military  clothes,  and  placed 
their  swords  across  their  knees.  Then  the  one 
who  had  taken  his  seat  first  spoke :  — 

"My  brother,  Prince  Murad,  salutes  you. 
He  is  sorry  that  he  will  be  unable  to  come  to- 
day. He  is  in  his  haremlik,  where  one  of  his 
ladies  is  ill." 

After  this  there  was  silence,  Adams  wonder- 
ing just  how  he  was  to  begin  his  teaching,  since 
there  were  neither  books,  pencils,  nor  paper. 
What  should  he  teach  them,  and  how?  The 
princes  themselves  evinced  not  the  slightest 
curiosity  on  the  subject.  They  remained  in- 
differently silent,  playing  with  the  beads  they 
carried  in  their  bejeweled  hands. 

Presently  the  third  prince  touched  his  fin- 
58 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

gers  to  his  lips  and  then  to  his  military  cap, 
from  the  edge  of  which  hung  jewels,  and  said 
something  to  his  oldest  brother.  The  oldest 
brother  touched  his  fingers  to  his  lips,  and 
waved  his  hand,  granting  permission  to  speak. 
Then  the  third  boy  addressed  the  tutor :  — 

"Tell  us  how  you  learned  your  studies  in 
your  country." 

"Do  you  all  understand  English?"  Adams 
asked. 

They  nodded. 

He  told  them  of  his  school  days.  They  were 
interested  —  at  least,  their  dark  eyes  remained 
fixed  on  him  and  they  did  not  interrupt  him 
once.  Exerting  himself  to  entertain  them,  he 
now  and  then  caused  them  to  smile  and  dis- 
play their  beautiful  white  teeth.  They  smiled 
where  other  boys  the  world  over  would  have 
broken  into  an  uproar  of  noisy  laughter.  Un- 
questionably they  were  the  best-behaved  boys 
he  had  ever  seen.  Lala  Sheddin  was  right: 
Osmanli  boys  were  different  from  other  boys, 
and  the  princes  of  the  house  of  Othman  were 
different  from  any  other  princes  in  the  world. 

After  an  hour,  grooms  arrived,  leading 
59 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

richly  caparisoned  horses.  The  princes  rose  in 
the  same  order  of  precedence  and  with  the 
same  formality  with  which  they  had  entered, 
and  mounted  their  horses.  Fully  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  was  occupied  in  the  salaaming  which 
accompanied  this.  Each  prince  was  assisted 
in  mounting  by  two  grooms  and  his  own  body- 
guard. 

The  tutor  inspected  their  seat  in  the  saddle 
and  their  way  of  holding  their  reins.  He  asked 
them  if  they  would  like  to  learn  to  mount 
unassisted,  and  gave  them  their  first  lesson 
in  this.  They  then  rode  through  the  wooded 
avenues,  within  the  palace  enclosure,  passing 
many  separate  establishments  of  the  different 
princes,  the  boundaries  of  which  were  close 
rows  of  evergreen  trees,  shutting  from  view 
all  that  was  within,  while  affording  no  pro- 
tection in  case  of  any  revolt  against  the  rule  of 
the  Sultan.  A  few  burly  eunuchs  at  some  of 
these  residences  showed  that  there  was  no  lack 
of  watch-dogs.  These,  as  well  as  some  gar- 
deners who  were  encountered,  prostrated  them- 
selves as  the  princes  rode  by. 

The  return  to  the  pavilion  was  timed  to  meet 
60 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

the  second  group  of  princes.  The  first  group 
dismounted  and  salaamed  to  the  second,  and 
the  second  to  the  first.  This  was  repeated  again, 
the  salutation  consisting  of  touching,  with  the 
right  hand,  the  ground,  the  knee,  the  heart, 
the  lips,  and  the  forehead.  As  he  watched  the 
numerous  genuflections  all  the  princes  went 
through,  the  Englishman  acknowledged  that 
Mahomet  was  indeed  a  great  prophet :  for  this 
constant  salaaming  kept  the  body  supple  and 
graceful:  it  took  the  place  of  dumb-bells  and 
calisthenics. 

This  second  group  of  princes,  a  little  younger 
than  the  first,  knew  English  less  well  than  their 
brothers.  They  spoke  it  slowly  and  haltingly, 
with  many  mistakes.  Their  horsemanship,  too, 
was  inferior,  and  the  time  with  them  passed 
more  quickly,  there  being  more  for  him  to  do 
in  teaching  them.  They  did  not  leave  him  till 
luncheon  time,  an  hour  which  plunged  the 
world  into  even  greater  silence  than  the  one 
that  usually  reigned  here. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon,  his  man  brought 
Adams  his  coffee,  and  shortly  afterwards  a 
batch  of  ten  little  princes,  between  nine  and 

61 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

eleven  years  old,  appeared.  They  knew  no 
English,  but  spoke  French  well,  and  he  began 
teaching  them  his  language  by  showing  them 
objects  in  the  room  and  slowly  saying  the 
English  names  to  them.  They  were  passively 
amused  when  they  could  not  quite  catch  the 
pronunciation  of  the  words.  They  had  ear  and 
a  certain  amount  of  willingness  to  learn;  but 
what  the  Englishman  marveled  at  was  the 
repose,  the  dignity,  and  the  courtesy  they 
possessed  even  at  that  early  age.  This  group 
had  not  yet  learned  to  ride,  yet  the  rapidity 
with  which,  under  his  instruction,  they  picked 
up  the  rudiments  of  horsemanship,  reminded 
Adams  that,  in  spite  of  their  present  surround- 
ings, they  came  of  a  nation  which  for  centuries 
had  lived  in  the  open  and  in  company  with 
horses. 

•  ,In  the  late  afternoon  all  the  princes  arrived 
together,  and  the  amount  of  mutual  salaaming 
was  increased  in  proportion  to  their  numbers. 
Prince  Murad  was  now  with  them,  —  he  who 
had  been  absent  in  the  morning,  —  and  the 
Englishman  wondered  whether  he  ought  to 
ask  him  how  his  lady  was,  or  to  ignore  his 

62 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

morning's  absence.  Not  knowing  what  to  do 
he  only  said,  "I'm  glad  to  have  you  with  us 
again." 

Prince  Murad,  as  the  eldest,  was  spokes- 
man, when  present.  "Sing  to  us,"  he  ordered. 
Adams  sang  a  nursery  rhyme  to  them,  and  was 
obliged  to  repeat  it  several  times.  "If  there 
were  a  piano,  I  could  also  play  to  you,"  he 
suggested,  and  they  all  nodded  approval  of 
the  idea. 

His  scholars  left  the  Englishman  without 
having  caused  him  a  single  moment's  trouble. 
As  he  watched  their  departure,  accompanied 
by  a  small  army  of  bodyguards,  and  heard  the 
clanging  of  their  swords,  which  seemed  so  in- 
congruous with  their  innocuous  conduct,  he 
wondered  anew  whether  the  fiery  and  tempes- 
tuous little  Bayazet  would  in  a  few  years  grow 
to  be  as  passive  and  acquiescent  as  his  elder 
brothers.  Several  times  during  the  day  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  inquiring  after  Bayazet,  but 
remembered  that  he  was  not  to  ask  questions. 

The  first  day's  work  of  the  imperial  tutor 
was  now  at  an  end,  and  he  was  at  liberty,  — 
such  liberty  as  the  palace  grounds  afforded, — 

63 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

and  just  how  much  that  was  he  did  not  yet 
know.  He  went  upstairs  in  his  pavilion,  and 
after  an  instant's  hesitation,  passed  out  on  the 
balcony  which  faced  the  palace.  He  tried  to 
divine  what  was  going  on  up  there  where  she 
lived.  All  that  he  could  see  was  the  dense  col- 
umn of  great  trees,  five  abreast,  standing  be- 
tween him  and  the  palace,  like  royal  guards, 
their  intertwining  branches  seeming  to  bar  the 
way  even  to  his  thoughts.  Yet  for  that  they 
were  not  strong  enough,  and  though  he  could 
not  see  even  the  glitter  of  the  setting  sun  on 
the  gilded  lattices  of  the  haremlik,  he  could 
almost  see  her  holding  her  boy  in  her  arms,  in 
her  room,  beyond  the  column  of  trees.  He  was 
glad  that  Bayazet  had  not  come,  this  day,  for 
it  must  mean  that  he  was  with  her. 

That  evening  did  not  bring  Lala  Sheddin; 
and  three  more  days  followed,  exactly  like  the 
first.  For  Adams,  getting  into  his  work,  they 
passed  quickly;  and  the  evenings  —  though 
he  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  on  his  balcony 
and  smoke  and  dream  —  the  evenings  passed 
quickly,  too.  At  the  end  of  the  third  day  Lala 
Sheddin  appeared.  He  sank  upon  a  divan. 

64 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Troubled  days,"  he  said,  "troubled  days." 

Lala  Sheddin,  half  an  hour  before,  had  re- 
ceived from  the  tutor's  servant  a  minute  ac- 
count of  all  the  doings  of  the  tutor,  and  he  was 
pleased  with  him. 

"I  am  glad  you  came,"  the  Englishman  said. 
"There  are  a  number  of  things  I  want  to  ask 
you  about."  He  opened  his  notebook:  "May 
I  walk  down  to  the  shore  in  the  evening?  May 
I  rearrange  things  here  in  the  pavilion  as  I  like  ? 
And  is  there  any  objection  to  my  smoking  a 
pipe  —  I  notice  you  provided  only  cigars  and 
cigarettes?"  He  looked  up  at  the  eunuch.  "I 
have  done  nothing  about  the  first  two,  but 
I  have  been  smoking  my  pipe." 

Lala  Sheddin  laughed.  "You  are  a  model 
man,"  he  exclaimed.  "Yes,  you  may  rear- 
range the  pavilion  to  suit  yourself,  you  may 
smoke  your  pipe,  and  you  may  walk  to  the 
shore  — in  that  direction."  He  pointed.  "The 
other  leads  toward  the  women's  gardens,  and 
though  they  are  some  distance  away,  I  should 
advise  you  not  to  approach  them." 

"Very  well,"  Adams  assented. 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  the  head 
65 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

eunuch,  though  he  appeared  most  absent- 
minded,  was  observing  the  Englishman  in- 
tently. 

"There  was  a  tutor  here  once,"  he  went  on 
dryly,  "who,  impelled  by  the  idle  curiosity 
which  you  Europeans  seem  to  develop,  strolled 
in  the  direction  which  I  had  advised  him  not 
to.  It  was  quite  innocent  curiosity,  I  believe, 
but  he  only  took  twenty-seven  steps  beyond 
the  boundary  which  I  had  indicated  to  the 
eunuchs.  I  know,  because  I  paced  the  distance 
to  the  body  myself  —  and  ten  eunuchs  received 
a  stroke  of  the  lash  apiece  for  every  one  of  those 
twenty-seven  steps." 

Adams  offered  no  comment  on  this,  and  the 
two  men  sat  in  silence  for  some  minutes  in  the 
deepening  dusk. 

"I  have  explained  this  to  you  so  minutely 
in  order  that  you  may  not  err  inadvertently," 
Lala  Sheddin  remarked  dryly.  "You  Euro- 
peans always  want  to  have  explained  the  rea- 
sons for  things.  You  have  not  learned  the  vir- 
tue of  obeying  without  understanding.  Have 
you  anything  more  in  your  notebook?" 

"Yes;  I  should  like  to  have  a  regular  school- 
66 


THE  GRASP   OF    THE  SULTAN 

house,  fitted  up  with  maps  and  blackboards, 
with  a  piano  and  a  harp." 

"What  kind  of  maps?" 

"Geographical  maps." 

Lala  Sheddin  shook  his  head.  "No,  you 
can't  have  any  maps.  Maps  are  lying  things, 
which  would  tell  the  princes  that  there  are 
other  countries  as  large  as  Turkey."  He  spoke 
in  perfect  soberness,  but  Adams  guessed  that 
there  must  be  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  eyes. 
"And  what  will  you  do  with  the  blackboards  ? " 

"  I  can  teach  English  words  easier  to  the  boys 
who  know  no  English,  and  it  will  help  with 
those  that  do.  Also  I  can  use  them  for  arith- 
metic." 

"You  need  not  bother  about  arithmetic. 
They  will  never  need  it.  They  do  not  keep  ac- 
counts. They  are  given  money  to  spend,  and 
when  it  is  gone  they  are  given  more.  That  is 
enough  arithmetic  for  princes.  You  may  have 
the  blackboards,  though,  and  the  schoolhouse. 
There  is  a  kiosk  down  near  the  water,  with 
two  large  rooms.  How  large  should  you  like 
the  blackboards?" 

"The  largest  you  can  find;  and  I  should  like 
67 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

about  a  dozen  slates  for  the  use  of  the  boys 
themselves.  If  one  of  the  rooms  is  fitted  with 
desks,  I  think  it  would  be  better.  I  can  draw 
the  design  for  them,  and  the  carpenter  can 
make  them.  The  other  room  might  be  fitted 
up  as  a  music-room;  for  they  like  me  to  sing 
and  play  to  them." 

"What  more  is  in  your  notebook?" 

"Am  I  allowed  to  visit  the  stables  and  the 
kennels,  and  make  friends  with  the  animals?" 

"You  may.  What  else?" 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  learn  some  Turkish, 
to  get  along  a  bit  better  with  my  man  here. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  that?" 

"So  you  mean  to  make  a  long  stay?"  the 
eunuch  queried. 

"I  should  like  to." 

"You  are  interested  in  your  work?" 

"It  is  not  hard." 

"What  have  the  boys  asked  you?" 

"They  ask  very  little.  They  like  riding,  and 
most  of  their  questions  deal  with  that." 

"You  ride  very  well,"  the  eunuch  commented. 
"I  like  your  seat  and  the  way  you  manage  your 
horse." 

68 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

"When  did  you  see  me?" 

"Every  time  you  went  out." 

"I  did  not  see  you." 

"It  is  my  business  to  see  all,  and  not  to  be 
seen.  How  had  you  thought  of  setting  about 
learning  Turkish?" 

"If  I  had  a  book  with  Turkish  words  and 
their  pronunciation  on  one  side,  and  the  Eng- 
lish translation  on  the  other,  I  could  study  a 
good  deal  by  myself.  Then  I  should  want  some 
one  to  read  the  words  to,  who  would  correct 
my  pronunciation." 

"I  should  be  pleased  to  do  that  for  you." 

"Thank  you." 

Lala  Sheddin  played  with  his  beads  for  a 
while.  "Is  there  nothing  else  in  your  note- 
book?" 

"That  is  all." 

"And  you  have  nothing  more  to  ask  me?" 

"No." 

"Mashallah!  But  you  are  the  man  after  my 
own  heart.  I  don't  suppose  you  have  thought 
at  all  about  Prince  Bayazet?" 

"  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  him." 

"And  you  do  not  ask?" 
69 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"That  does  not  mean  that  I  should  not  be 
glad  to.hear  anything  you  may  care  to  tell  me." 

"He  is  a  veritable  eagle,  that  little  boy  of 
four!  He  is  the  son  of  his  mother." 

Had  Lala  Sheddin  known  how  eager  the  Eng- 
lishman was  to  hear  about  Bayazet's  mother, 
he  might  not  have  trusted  him  as  he  was  do- 
ing at  this  moment.  But  the  Englishman's  face 
was  passive,  his  manner  indifferent.  His  pipe 
was  between  his  lips,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"The  boy  is  ill." 

"Oh!"  — the  English  "Oh!"  than  which 
no  more  non-committal  monosyllable  exists. 

"He  cried  himself  into  a  fever  that  night, 
and  he  has  had  fever  ever  since.  Four  doctors 
have  been  by  his  bedside;  for  the  Padishah 
thinks  more  of  that  son  of  his  than  of  any  other 
—  just  as  he  thinks  more  of  the  boy's  mother 
than  of  any  other  of  his  wives.  Fate  is  humor- 
ous :  every  other  woman  in  his  palace  is  ready 
to  please  the  Padishah,  and  he  wants  the  one 
woman  who  does  not  want  him.  Kismet!  Even 
a  Padishah  must  have  his  troubles,  lest  he  for- 
get that  Allah  is  greater  than  he."  The  eunuch 
got  on  his  feet.  "  If  you  find  after  riding  many 

70 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

horses  that  there  are  some  you  like  very  much, 
say  so,  and  they  will  be  reserved  for  you.  Is 
your  man  attentive  to  you?" 

"A  little  too  much.  I  should  rather  have 
him  go  after  his  work  is  done." 

"Very  well.  I  will  tell  him  that  there  is  no 
need  of  his  staying."  The  double  meaning  in 
the  words  was  lost  on  the  Englishman.  "Is 
there  anything  you  would  like  to  have  to  eat 
which  you  do  not  have?" 

"I  have  everything,  I  thank  you." 

"The  Prophet  does  not  believe  in  drinks.  I 
regret  it  for  your  sake  —  especially  since  you 
do  not  believe  in  the  Prophet." 

"I  am  beginning  to  have  a  great  deal  of 
admiration  for  the  Prophet.  He  keeps  his 
people  sober,  and  gives  them  plenty  of  exer- 


cise." 


"You  have  been  seeing  the  people  pray?" 
"No,  but  I  have  seen  them  salaam." 
"Well,  when  you  see  them  pray  you  will 
have  to  admit  that  the  Prophet  was  a  great 
physician.   Now,  good-night!  You  had  better 
take  to  our  praying  and  salaaming  to  keep 
yourself  in  condition." 


THE  GRASP   OF    THE   SULTAN 

The  Englishman  laughed 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  I  was  told  that  Prince 
Murad  did  not  come  to  his  lessons  this  morn- 
ing, because  he  was  in  the  haremlik  with  a 
sick  lady,  his  mother,  I  presume.  What  is  the 
etiquette?  Was  I  supposed  to  inquire  about 
the  lady's  health?" 

"No,  never  mention  the  word  *  harem*  to 
any  of  the  princes.  Between  you  and  them  the 
word  does  not  exist.  It  was  n't  Prince  Murad's 
mother  who  was  ill,  anyway.  It  was  one  of  his 


wives." 


The  Englishman  lost  a  bit  of  his  passivity. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  is  already 
married!" 

"All  of  the  princes  who  came  to  you  first 
are  married.  Prince  Murad  has  two  wives." 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN  OF   STAMBOUL 

-  IN  a  huge,  underground  chamber  of  the  palace 
toiled  the  Great  Magician  of  Stamboul.  He 
had  been  here  for  days  and  nights,  and  had 
wasted  away  many  pounds  since  he  had  come. 
Of  late  years,  with  prosperity,  he  had  waxed 
fat.  When  his  services  had  come  into  demand 
even  at  the  imperial  palace,  he  had  considered 
his  fortune  assured.  Now  he  was  bending  over 
a  copper  brazier  of  live  coals,  and  the  smoke 
from  his  dread  ingredients  was  thick,  and  he 
was  muttering  exorcising  words  with  a  fervor 
he  had  never  shown  before  in  his  life.  But  it 
was  not  so  much  the  hope  of  reward  as  the  fear 
of  death  that  caused  the  drops  of  anxious  sweat 
to  pour  off  his  brow.  There  was  only  one 
entrance  to  the  room  occupied  by  the  Great 
Magician,  and  Albanian  guards  were  sta- 
tioned outside  the  door.  They  would  let  no 
one  in  —  they  would  let  no  one  escape  through 

73 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

that  doorway.  And  desperately  the  magician 
toiled  away  at  his  magics. 

In  another  part  of  the  palace  four  European 
physicians  were  quartered.  Magic  and  science 
were  both  working  to  save  the  life  of  Prince 
Bayazet;  for  the  Padishah,  in  spite  of  his 
boast  that  he  had  many  other  sons,  and  that 
many  more  could  be  born  to  him,  felt  a  love 
for  fiery  little  Bayazet  such  as  he  entertained 
for  none  other.  If  Bayazet  were  to  die,  then 
death  should  come  to  other  men  also,  in  order 
that  the  sorrow  of  the  ruler  might  be  appeased. 
He  could  not  kill  the  European  doctors  with- 
out creating  unpleasant  European  complica- 
tions; but  the  magician  with  his  boasted  skill 
could  be  crushed  like  a  worm  —  and  the  magi- 
cian knew  it. 

Although,  in  their  quarters,  the  aspect  of 
the  four  European  doctors  was  grave,  their 
state  of  mind  was  less  distressful  than  the  magi- 
cian's. As  the  seed  floats  to  its  destination  on 
the  thistledown,  so  the  seed  of  an  idea  had 
been  wafted  from  Lala  Sheddin's  mind  to  theirs 
—  wafted  so  delicately  that  hardly  a  spoken 
word  had  been  necessary.  They  knew  that  it 

74 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

would  be  well  if  they  did  not  minimize  to  the 
Padishah  the  dangers  which  beset  their  pa- 
tient, well  also  if  Bayazet's  recovery  were  not 
to  set  in  until  the  eunuch  pronounced  him 
convalescing.  These  European  doctors  had 
lived  long  enough  in  Turkey  to  know  that  the 
hints  of  a  trusted  eunuch  were  not  to  be  dis- 
regarded. Besides  they  were  human,  those 
doctors,  greedy  for  decorations,  and  large  re- 
wards, and  the  fame  which  the  report  of  mar- 
velous cures  brings.  To  snatch  an  imperial 
prince  from  the  very  jaws  of  death  was  an 
achievement  more  worth  while  than  merely 
the  curing  of  a  slight  indisposition  —  and  which 
of  us  is  unheroic  enough  not  to  prefer  the  great 
achievement  to  the  petty  deed  ? 

On  the  fifth  night,  one  of  the  doctors,  as 
usual,  was  left  to  keep  watch  over  the  child, 
and  with  him  was  Lala  Sheddin.  To-night 
there  were  complications.  Lala  Sheddin  had 
to  go  away  for  a  time,  yet  he  could  not  leave 
any  man  alone  in  the  haremlik  of  the  Sultan, 
and  there  was  no  other  eunuch  that  he  cared 
to  trust  to  take  his  place.  The  midnight  hour 
was  past,  and  the  doctor,  a  youngish  man,  of 

75 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

stout  Teutonic  build,  began  to  yawn.  Fur- 
tively Lala  Sheddin  watched  him.  When  the 
doctor  had  yawned  seven  times,  the  eunuch 
spoke  to  him  kindly:  — 

"Suppose  you  lie  down  on  the  couch  in  the 
alcove  for  a  little  while.  I  will  watch  over  the 
prince,  and  if  I  hear  any  movement,  I  can  call 
you  directly." 

The  doctor  hesitating,  Lala  Sheddin  added 
in  a  whisper:  "The  mother  is  anxious  to  come 
and  sit  by  the  boy.  I  cannot  let  her  come  un- 
less you  lie  down  and  pretend  to  be  asleep." 

There  is  not  a  European  in  Turkey  who  is 
not  desirous  of  obtaining  a  glimpse  of  a  Turkish 
woman,  and  when  it  comes  to  an  imperial  sul- 
tana —  The  bribe  was  no  small  one.  The  doc- 
tor was  youngish  and  handsome,  and  he  had 
been  successful  with  women.  His  male  egotism 
was  astir.  If  he  lay  down  in  the  alcove  he  should 
see  an  imperial  beauty  —  and  she  would  see 
him !  Instinctively  his  fingers  went  to  his  mus- 
tache: caressed  it,  twirled  it,  and  gave  it  an 
upward  slant.  His  florid  face  wore  the  air  of  a 
conqueror. 

Not  one  of  these  movements  was  lost  on  Lala 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

Sheddin,  and  deep  within  the  dried  kernel  of 
his  own  heart  he  chuckled. 

"Come!"  he  said,  rising. 

In  the  alcove  was  a  divan  and  some  pillows. 
With  care  Lala  Sheddin  arranged  and  fluffed 
up  the  pillows.  The  comfort  of  the  doctor 
seemed  of  great  importance  to  the  head  eunuch. 
He  turned  to  him :  — 

"Lie  down  here.  So  long  as  you  seem  to  be 
asleep  it  will  not  matter." 

The  doctor  stretched  himself  on  the  couch. 
It  was  not  the  usual  hard  couch  found  in  Tur- 
key, it  was  soft  and  yielding.  A  curious  pun- 
gent odor  clung  to  the  pillows  —  "An  odd  per- 
fume for  a  sultana,"  thought  the  doctor.  "I 
wonder  what  it  is." 

They  were  his  last  conscious  thoughts.  Lala 
Sheddin,  with  a  vacant  expression,  watched  the 
lids  of  the  doctor  flicker,  half-close,  then  sink 
down  over  his  eyes,  and  his  breathing  come 
with  the  regularity  that  bespeaks  the  real,  not 
the  sham,  sleeper. 

The  eunuch  brought  from  his  pocket  a  case 
about  the  size  of  a  cigar-case.  It  was  carefully 
wrought  and  fitted  hermetically.  Unfastening 

77 


THE   GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

it,  he  took  out  two  dried  leaves.  He  rubbed 
them  between  his  hands,  and  the  same  odor 
the  doctor  had  noticed  emanated  from  them. 
The  powdered  leaves  he  put  in  a  handkerchief, 
crushing  it  together  till  the  leaves  were  well 
rubbed  into  the  cambric,  and  then  he  placed 
the  handkerchief  over  the  face  of  the  sleeping 
man.  "Now  you  will  be  out  of  the  way  for  more 
time  than  I  need,"  he  muttered. 

He  turned  to  the  sleeping  prince,  and  as  he 
gazed  upon  him,  his  expression  was  far  from 
vacant.  Whatever  was  human  in  Lala  Sheddin 
was  alive  in  him  now.  "Every  bit  her  child," 
he  murmured.  "Every  bit  her  son — in  face  as 
well  as  spirit."  He  bent  and  lightly  passed  his 
hands,  smelling  of  the  pungent  herb,  over  the 
face  of  the  prince.  "You  must  be  quiet,  quiet, 
quiet!"  he  said  tensely. 

Softly  he  opened  the  door,  and  passed  out 
into  the  anteroom.  It  was  small  and  empty. 
There  was  no  possible  place  where  a  human 
being  could  be  concealed;  yet  he  examined 
every  corner,  every  portiere,  every  impossible 
spot.  Caution  had  become  so  ingrained  with 

• 

Lala  Sheddin  that  he  would  have  suspected  a 

78 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

walking-stick  of  harboring  some  one.  Having 
finally  assured  even  himself  that  no  one  was 
there,  he  cautiously  opened  a  heavily  curtained 
door.  Bayazet's  mother  was  in  the  room  be- 
yond, with  a  trusted  woman  slave.  He  beck- 
oned to  them  to  enter;  and  in  spite  of  the  cer- 
tainty that  no  one  was  within  earshot,  he  spoke 
in  so  low  a  tone  that  it  hardly  vibrated  the  air. 

"I  have  put  the  European  donkey  to  sleep, 
and  a  little  I  gave  Prince  Bayazet." 

"Oh,  Lala  Sheddin !  Is  it  well  for  him  thus  to 
drug  him?"  the  mother  cried. 

"We  cannot  afford  to  have  him  awaken  while 
I  am  gone  —  and  I  must  go.  I  shall  be  back  in 
less  than  an  hour.  You  must  remain  on  watch 
here  while  I  am  away,  and  she"  —  pointing  to 
the  woman  —  "must  remain  in  the  outer  room. 
Should  a  malevolent  spirit  impel  the  Padishah 
to  come  here  while  I  am  gone,  you  must  keep 
him  from  entering  that  room.  If  he  should  enter 
and  find  me  gone,  and  the  man  there  and  you 
here,  —  it  would  mean  the  end  of  all  things 
for  us,  —  and  for  Prince  Bayazet  as  well.  He 
would  spare  nothing  that  he  could  wreak  his 
vengeance  on."  The  eunuch  paused,  and  then 

79 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

went  on  impressively:  "Remember,  Kizatesh 
Sultana,  the  Padishah  must  not  enter  that 
room,  even  if,  to  keep  him  out,  you  have  to 
pretend  that  love  has  suddenly  blossomed  in 
your  heart  for  him.  If  any  other  persons  come 
to  the  door  of  the  room,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
slave,  "tell  them  my  orders  are  that  they  are 
to  go  away  at  once  if  they  wish  to  live  twenty- 
four  hours.  Now  I  must  leave  you.  Pray  to 
Allah  to  be  with  me.  If  I  succeed,  you  may 
keep  Prince  Bayazet  with  you  in  the  haremlik 
for  some  years  longer  —  and  you  yourself  will 
be  molested  by  no  one." 

Lala  Sheddin  had  not  boasted  to  the  English- 
man when  he  said  that  he  knew  the  palace  well. 
He  knew  it  better  than  any  man  living  —  in- 
finitely better  than  his  imperial  master.  The 
palace  was  not  the  orderly  conception  of  an 
architect's  brain.  It  had  grown  up,  wing  by 
wing,  had  crumbled,  been  rebuilt,  and  altered 
many  times,  as  the  whim  of  the  ruler,  or  of  this 
or  that  favorite  wife,  had  impelled;  and  during 
Lala  Sheddin's  forty  years  of  supremacy  he  had 
found  it  convenient  to  have  certain  hidden  pas- 

80 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

sages  made  —  passages  with  cleverly  concealed 
doors  —  by  means  of  which  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  pass,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  from  one 
apartment  to  another,  or  to  overhear  the  spoken 
thoughts  of  others  who  thought  themselves 
alone.  Thus,  although  the  Albanian  guards 
stood  alertly  at  their  posts,  to  permit  neither 
ingress  nor  egress  to  the  vaulted  room  where 
the  Great  Magician  of  Stamboul  was  evoking 
the  spirits,  suddenly,  without  sound  or  warn- 
ing, the  arch-eunuch  crouched  before  him. 

The  magician  was  so  startled  that  at  first  he 
thought  he  had  actually  succeeded  in  calling 
the  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep.  A  sign  of  cau- 
tion from  Lala  Sheddin  and  the  fear  of  the  su- 
pernatural was  replaced  by  another  fear.  The 
magician  trembled  as  if  in  the  grip  of  illness. 

Lala  Sheddin  flattened  himself  out  on  the 
floor,  in  the  dark  shadows,  beneath  the  copper 
brazier  with  its  flickering  light,  and  began  to 
speak  to  the  magician.  He  spoke  so  low  that 
the  magician  had  to  bend  to  catch  the  words. 
He  spoke  at  length,  and  then  the  magician  re- 
peated certain  words  several  times  over,  as  if 
learning  a  certain  formula. 

81 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

As  silently  as  he  had  come,  the  eunuch  went 
away,  in  the  shadows.  Even  the  magician  did 
not  see  him  move  from  the  darkness  beneath 
the  flickering  light  from  the  brazier.  "Mash- 
allah!  He  disappears  like  a  djinn,"  the  magi- 
cian muttered,  with  the  sincere  admiration  of  a 
fellow  craftsman. 

Nothing  untoward  had  happened  during 
Lala  Sheddin's  absence.  He  found  the  slave 
woman  in  the  outer  room,  and  Kizatesh  Sultana 
on  guard  where  he  had  left  her.  He  waved  his 
hand  to  her. 

"All  is  well!  Your  star,  carried  by  the  sun, 
is  high  in  the  heavens.  Go  now  to  sleep." 

"Lala  Sheddin,  let  me  see  my  boy — just 
one  peep,"  she  begged. 

Autocrat  though  he  was  within  his  own 
sphere,  he  found  it  hard  to  refuse  her. 

"Come,  then,  and  come  quickly.  We  must 
not  spoil  things  to  gratify  a  weakness." 

Prince  Bayazet's  curly  head  on  the  little 
white  pillow  lay  motionless,  in  deepest  slumber. 

"Make  him  move,  Lala  Sheddin.  Let  me  see 
signs  of  life  to  take  with  me  to  remember."  She 
pleaded  low  and  earnestly,  with  the  rich  tones 

82 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

in  her  voice  which  made  those  who  heard  her 
wish  to  obey  her.  Lala  Sheddin  rubbed  his 
hands  together,  and  touched  the  child. 

"Wake!  Wake!"  he  repeated. 

The  little  prince  stirred.  One  of  his  hands 
moved.  The  mother  caught  him  to  her  breast 
and  held  him  for  a  second,  her  face  alight  with 
joy.  With  half-closed  eyes  Lala  Sheddin 
watched  her,  unwonted  tenderness  softening 
the  hard  lines  of  his  face;  yet  when  she  put  the 
child  down  and  thanked  him  for  his  kindness, 
he  spoke  savagely  to  her:  — 

"Begone,  woman;  begone,  I  say!  Have  n't 
we  run  enough  risks  to-night?" 

On  the  seventh  day  after  Bayazet  had  been 
taken  ill,  at  the  hour  when  the  muezzin  was 
calling  the  faithful  to  prayer,  the  magician  was 
brought  into  the  presence  of  the  Shadow  of 
Allah  on  Earth.  He  had  a  message  to  deliver 
from  the  spirits,  and  this  was  it: — 

"Prince  Bayazet  had  been  torn  from  child- 
hood and  thrust  into  manhood.  This  must  not 
be :  for  five  years  more  he  must  remain  a  child 
—  remain  within  the  care  of  the  woman  who 
.83 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

had  borne  him.  And  during  this  time  she,  the 
woman  who  had  borne  Prince  Bayazet,  must 
see  the  face  of  no  man,  not  even  of  her  husband. 
Were  either  of  these  conditions  to  be  broken, 
the  vengeance  of  the  spirits  would  descend  upon 
the  Padishah  himself,  and  he  should  die." 

These  were  venturesome  words  to  speak  to 
the  face  of  the  Sultan,  and  he  paled,  half  with 
anger,  half  with  fear. 

"When  did  this  message  come?"  he  asked, 
trying  to  sneer  away  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  It  was  at  the  hour  when  seven  stars  crossed 
and  recrossed  one  anothers'  courses,  O  Great 
Emir.  A  voice  from  the  depth  of  the  newborn 
day  spoke  to  me  then,  and  bade  me  bring  you 
this  message.  I  have  no  right  to  question.  I 
can  only  repeat  what  the  voice  said,  because 
after  I  heard  it,  as  always  happens,  I  fell  into  a 
great  swoon,  only  to  awaken  at  the  dawn  of  the 
morning  star." 

Had  the  Sultan  had  any  doubts  of  the  genu- 
ineness of  the  message  they  would  have  been 
dispelled  when  on  that  same  day  the  four  Eu- 
ropean doctors  pronounced  the  young  prince 
entirely  out  of  danger.  They  left  the  palace 

84 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

loaded  down  with  gifts,  and  each  one  wearing 
his  decoration  —  yet  it  was  the  Great  Magician 
of  Stamboul  who  carried  away  the  greater 
riches.  Immediately  after  that  all  trace  of  him 
was  lost.  He  had  reached  the  summit  of  his 
ambition  —  he  had  been  called  to  the  palace : 
he  did  not  desire  to  have  that  dangerous  dis- 
tinction conferred  on  him  again.  As  for  Lala 
Sheddin,  he  went  about  his  various  difficult 
tasks  with  his  habitual  expression  of  heaviness, 
managing  to  keep  an  army  of  eunuchs  from 
envying  him  and  a  greater  army  of  women  from 
hating  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 
"YOUNG,  AND  ALONE,  AND  DEFENSELESS" 

As  was  his  evening  habit,  the  Englishman 
was  stretched  out  on  his  chaise-longue  on  the 
veranda,  smoking  and  looking  up  at  the  stars 
and  pondering  on  this  strange  life  into  which  he 
had  been  thrown,  a  life  that  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  become  commonplace.  He  was  hoping 
that  Lala  Sheddin  might  come  and  tell  him 
something  of  what  was  happening  up  there  in 
that  huge  palace,  not  half  a  mile  from  his 
pavilion,  but  which  might  as  well  have  been  on 
the  other  side  of  the  globe,  so  unapproachable 
was  it. 

It  must  have  been  a  good  night  for  hoping; 
for  suddenly,  without  Adams's  having  heard  a 
sound,  the  head  eunuch  stood  before  him. 

"Well,  !I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Lala  Shed- 
din,"  Adams  cried,  springing  from  his  chair, 
"and  forgive  this  one  question:  How  is  Prince 
Bayazet?" 

86 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"The  doctors  have  gone  away —  so  has  the 
Great  Magician  of  Stamboul,"  the  eunuch 
answered. 

"Had  a  magician,  did  you?"  the  Englishman 
commented. 

The  quick  ear  of  the  other  noted  disapproval. 
Lala  Sheddin  sat  down,  and  after  the  English- 
man was  also  seated,  drew  his  chair  close  to  his 
host's.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  would  not 
have  carried  three  yards. 

"Ah,  my  young  friend,  the  magician  was 
much  more  useful  than  the  doctors  —  though 
they  helped  also,  in  their  place."  In  the  bright 
starlight  the  eunuch,  with  humorous  intentness, 
watched  Adams's  face  as  he  refilled  his  pipe. 
"Are  you  not  afraid  that  you  may  burst?"  he 
asked  gravely. 

"Burst  —  how?"  the  tutor  inquired. 

"With  all  that  you  would  like  to  know  — 
and  do  not  ask  about." 

"A  condition  of  my  staying  here  was  that 
I  was  not  to  ask  questions,"  Adams  observed 
dryly. 

"Not  from  the  princes."  Lala  Sheddin 
touched  his  nose  knowingly  with  his  forefinger. 

87 


THE   GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

"Sometimes  you  may  ask  from  me.  But  now, 
tell  me,  did  the  carpenters  do  well  in  the  school- 
rooms?" 

"Oh,  yes.  They  are  fitted  up  capitally  now. 
I  am  surprised  that  with  all  the  anxiety  you 
have  had  you  should  have  thought  of  them  at 
all.  I  had  forgotten  about  them  myself." 

"You  were  anxious  —  I  was  not;  though 
there  were  certain  combinations  I  had  to  bring 
to  a  happy  culmination." 

Adams  felt  a  certain  amount  of  annoyance 
with  the  eunuch.  Little  as  he  had  seen  of  him 
during  the  ten  days  he  had  been  here,  he  had 
already  come  to  realize  that  he  was  not  an 
ordinary  man.  He  admired  and  respected  him, 
as  an  Englishman  will  always  respect  ability 
wherever  he  meets  it.  But  because  the  eunuch 
was  shrewd  beyond  Adams's  imagination,  he 
was  annoyed  and  baffled,  as  an  Englishman  is 
by  what  he  does  not  understand.  He  suspected 
Lala  Sheddin  of  putting  more  "side"  into  his 
mysteriousness  than  there  was  really  occasion 
for.  In  his  next  question  he  reverted  to  the 
simpler  matter  of  the  schoolrooms. 

"Did  you  yourself  choose  those  blackboards, 
88 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

slates,  and  musical  instruments?  They  were 
just  what  I  wanted." 

The  Mussulman  shook  his  head.  "I  never 
leave  the  palace.  I  was  born  here,  and  all  I 
know  is  here.  I  have  seen  the  men  composing 
the  outside  world,  and  with  few  exceptions  they 
give  me  no  desire  to  see  it.  Besides,  I  have  all 
I  can  do  here.  There  are  five  thousand  people 
who  live  in  this  enclosure:  a  quarter  of  them 
fear  me;  a  quarter  hate  me;  another  quarter 
envy  me;  and  the  other  quarter  attribute  to  me 
supernatural  powers.  And  I  —  well,  I  fear  one 
person,  and  I  care  for  two;  I  am  sorry  for  some, 
and  the  rest  I  despise.  Yet  there  is  a  great  deal 
to  do  to  keep  those  five  thousand  people  from 
—  how  shall  I  say  —  from  developing  so  much 
friction  that  they  shall  get  on  fire.  As  for  the 
Padishah—" 

The  eunuch  bowed  low  as  he  referred  to  the 
august  personage.  Yet,  unless  the  starlight  de- 
ceived him,  Adams  perceived  a  mocking  gleam 
in  his  eyes  as  he  raised  his  head  again.  Leaving 
the  sentence  unfinished,  Lala  Sheddin  inquired : 

"Do  you  like  your  pupils?" 

"Very  much.  They  give  me  no  trouble,  and 
89 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

they  learn  quickly  —  whatever  they  are  inter- 
ested in." 

"You  have  a  pleasant  voice  when  you  sing. 
You  sing  even  better  than  you  play,  and  the 
boys  are  fond  of  music.  Do  you  still  wish  to 
stay  on  here?" 

"  Indeed  I  do."  Adams's  tone  was  hearty. 

"Tell  me  why  you  wish  to  stay  here." 

"It's  a  good  job."  The  tone  of  the  English- 
man was  less  convincing  than  it  had  been 
before. 

As  if  it  were  a  matter  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance, Lala  Sheddin  placed  the  finger-tips  of 
one  hand  against  those  of  the  other  —  a  Turk- 
ish trick  when  thinking  or  to  gain  time.  He  re- 
garded them  intently  until  all  five  were  in  place; 
then  he  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  straight  into 
those  of  the  Englishman. 

"It  is  the  restful  monotony  you  like?"  he 
asked  innocently,  —  "  teaching  little  boys  ?  Or 
is  it  sitting  up  here,  night  after  night,  by  your- 
self, without  ever  seeing  a  person?" 

"W-e-1-1,  I  am  usually  glad  to  rest  after 
the  day's  work,"  Adams  explained,  somewhat 
lamely.  "And  then  I  do  see  you,  you  know, 

90 


THE   GRASP. OF   THE   SULTAN 

and  I  Ve  never  met  any  one  who  interested  me 


more." 


Lala  Sheddin  did  not  hide  the  pleasure  he  felt 
at  the  Englishman's  words;  yet  he  shook  his 
head.  "You  took  the  post  before  you  had  met 
me.  You  are  young,  you  are  handsome  —  even 
better  than  handsome,  you  have  that  about 
you  which  must  make  women  love  you  very 
much;  and  from  what  I  understand,  the  love 
of  women  is  the  most  potent  factor  in  the  lives 
of  men.  Yet  you  are  willing  to  live  here  like  a 
Christian  monk  —  why? " 

The  son  of  an  English  lord  pondered  for  a 
minute.  "Lala  Sheddin,  for  some  years  I  have 
paddled  in  the  wrong  course.  I  resolved  to  get 
back  where  I  belonged.  Manlove  Pasha,  who 
is  a  friend  of  my  family,  believed  in  me  and 
gave  me  this  chance.  I  mean  to  justify  his 
confidence." 

"Ah,  so  you  are  not  a  worthy  young  man  who, 
by  diligent  studying,  has  raised  himself  to  the 
position  of  tutor  to  small  boys  in  learning?" 

Adams  gave  a  wry  smile.   "No,"  he  replied. 

"You  have,  what  you  call  in  your  country, 
'blood'?" 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"Yes." 

"You  are  —  you  were  rich?" 

"My  father  is.  What  came  to  me  from  my 
mother  I  have  already  wasted." 

"You  have  nothing  except  what  you  will 
earn  here?" 

"Quite  so." 

"At  the  death  of  your  father,  you  inherit 
nothing?" 

"He  disinherited  me  —  in  fact,  he  believes 
me  dead." 

"'Burton  Adams'  is  not  your  name?" 

"No." 

"Is  your  father  a  great  man  in  his  coun- 
try?" ' 

"He  has  a  great  name,  and  occupies  a  great 
position." 

"I  thought  so.  I  am  glad  I  was  right.  I  am 
pleased  you  have  'blood.'  It  is  a  good  thing  to 
start  with  —  sometimes."  The  eunuch  leaned 
forward  and  touched  Adams  on  the  shoulder. 
"  I  am  a  lonely  old  man,  and  there  are  few  peo- 
ple I  like.  It  is  a  great  deal  for  me  to  have  you 
here  —  to  trust  you.  I  can  trust  you  better,  I 
think,  because  you  have  paddled  in  the  wrong 

92 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

course,  as  you  call  it  —  and  have  come  back  to 
the  right  one.  Now,  let  us  go  in  where  there  is 
a  light,  and  I  will  begin  teaching  you  Turkish. 
I  shall  do  so  regularly,  in  order  that  there  shall 
be  a  reason  why  I  come  to  you  often." 

Into  the  difficult  study  of  Turkish  the  pupil 
put  great  efforts.  He  had  an  excellent  teacher, 
and  within  two  weeks  could  read  and  write 
a  number  of  useful  words,  besides  speaking  a 
number  more.  The  friendship  between  the  two 
men  grew  with  that  steady,  gradual  growth 
which  goes  far.  The  eunuch  asked  to  know  the 
Christian  name  of  the  Englishman;  "for  I  do 
not  wish  to  call  you  by  a  false  name,"  he  said, 
and  so  "Lionel  Effendi"  he  became  when  they 
were  alone  together. 

A  month  later,  after  their  lesson  was  ended, 
the  eunuch  said :  "  I  shall  bring  Prince  Bayazet 
to  you  to-morrow."  His  tone  was  casual,  but 
his  lynx-like  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  English- 
man. He  saw  the  sudden  light  of  pleasure,  fol- 
lowed by  a  troubled  look.  Leaning  toward  him 
Lala  Sheddin  asked  quietly:  — 

"Why  were  you  glad  —  and  then  sorry?" 

"I  was  glad,  of  course,  to  see  the  boy," 
93 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Lionel  replied,  with  some  embarrassment.  "He 
is  not  an  ordinary  child." 

"And  sorry  —  why  were  you  sorry?" 

"Hang  it  all,  man,"  Lionel  stammered,  "it's 
none  of  my  business,  but  does  this  mean  that 
she  has  lost  the  boy  again?" 

"She  — who  is  'she'?"  the  eunuch  asked, 
with  a  blank,  puzzled  face. 

An  uncomfortable  flush  mounted  to  the 
Englishman's  face.  "You  don't  expect  me  to 
pretend  to  be  indifferent  to  a  woman's  suffer- 
ings, do  you  ? " 

A  slow  smile  crept  into  the  well-controlled 
countenance  of  the  eunuch.  "You  were  very 
clever  that  night  in  the  palace,  when  the  great 
Calif  asked  you  if  you  had  seen  the  woman's 
face.  You  did  not  lie,  but  you  did  see  her  face." 
Lala  Sheddin  drew  his  chair  closer.  "Tell  me, 
Lionel  Effendi,  when  you  sit  upstairs  at  night 
and  watch  the  stars,  do  you  —  dream  of  her?" 

The  Englishman  shivered.  He  had  an  un- 
canny fear  of  this  man.  "My  dear  fellow — " 
he  began. 

Lala  Sheddin  interrupted  him.  "You  need 
not  deny  it,  Lionel  Effendi.  There  is  nothing  so 

94 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

beautiful  in  the  world  as  to  dream  of  a  woman 
—  whom  you  are  never  to  see  again.  A  woman 
young,  and  alone,  and  defenseless,  in  the  im- 
perial palace:  a  woman  barely  eighteen  years 
old  —  a  child,  with  the  heart  of  an  eagle,  the 
courage  of  a  lion.  Why  should  you  be  ashamed 
to  admit  it,  Lionel  Eflendi?  She  is  worth 
dreaming  about,  this  young  mother  who  is 
sending  you  her  son  to-morrow,  and  who  bids 
me  to  tell  you  that  she  trusts  you,  and  begs  you 
to  make  of  him  a  man  like  yourself." 

"She  sends  me  that  message?"  The  English- 
man's voice  sounded  strange  in  his  own  ears. 

"  She  does.  But  there  is  no  use  of  your  think- 
ing you  will  ever  see  her  again;  for  you  never 
will.  Only  there  is  no  harm  in  your  dreaming 
about  her,  and"  —  his  voice  was  very  low  — 
"  and  even  loving  her.  It  is  said  that  love  is  the 
most  powerful  thing  in  the  world:  that  by  its 
strength  it  can  protect  the  beloved  one  as  if 
surrounding  her  with  the  walls  of  a  fortress. 
She  needs  it  —  young,  and  alone,  and  defense- 
less, up  there  in  the  imperial  palace." 

He  rose.  "No  more  to-night,  my  boy.  The 
strongest  of  us  have  weak  moments,  moments 

95 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

when  we  say  and  do  things  which  we  regret 
afterwards.  Let  no  such  regrets  come  between 
us.  Good-night!" 

Lionel  closed  the  door  after  the  eunuch,  and 
went  up  to  his  room,  his  heart  still  vibrant  with 
the  words:  "Young,  and  alone,  and  defense- 
less." It  was  hours  before  he  could  compose 
himself  to  sleep;  and  even  then  he  dreamed  of 
a  woman,  barely  eighteen,  whom  once  he  had 
seen  —  and  whom  he  was  never  to  see  again. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MANLOVE    PASHA  WONDERS 

IT  was  a  still  pale  and  frail-looking  boy,  the 
little  Bayazet,  whom  Lala  Sheddin  brought  to 
the  tutor  the  next  day,  but  his  eyes  were  clear 
and  as  full  of  fire  as  ever.  He  stretched  out  his 
arms  to  Lionel,  and  his  delight  was  of  the  great- 
est when  "his  man"  spoke  a  few  words  to  him 
in  his  newly  acquired  Turkish.  He  did  not  wear 
his  colonel's  uniform,  but  a  little  frock,  with  an 
eaglet  embroidered  on  his  breast. 

Lala  Sheddin  pointed  to  the  eaglet.  "She 
wears  a  mother  eagle.  She  embroiders  them  all 
herself." 

"Is  she  going  to  lose  him  again?"  Lionel 
asked.  "You  did  not  tell  me  last  night." 

The  eunuch  shook  his  head.  "She  is  to  keep 
him  for  five  whole  years.  Do  you  see  now  how 
important  the  magician  was?"  He  smiled 
slightly.  "Not  only  is  she  to  keep  him;  but 
during  those  five  years,  he"  —  he  made  a  move- 
ment of  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  palace 

97 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

—  "he  is  not  going  to  see  her.  So  much  I  have 
gained  for  her." 

A  great  flare  of  joy  suffused  Lionel's  whole 
being.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  the  eunuch. 
"Lala  Sheddin,  you  are  a  man." 

"By  the  grace  of  Allah,  I  should  have  been," 
the  eunuch  replied  quietly. 

The  other  princes  entered  at  this  point,  and 
saved  the  Englishman  from  the  necessity  of 
trying  to  extricate  himself  from  the  embarrass- 
ment into  which  Lala  Sheddin's  words  had 
thrown  him. 

With  the  return  of  Bayazet,  Lionel's  daily 
work  became  more  interesting.  He  was  by  far 
the  most  intelligent  of  all  the  princes,  and 
would  have  been  a  remarkable  child  anywhere. 
As  the  boy  rapidly  learned  English,  he  and  his 
tutor  became  great  chums.  While  exquisitely 
childlike  in  many  ways,  Bayazet  often  startled 
the  tutor  with  thoughts  that  might  have  been 
natural  to  a  precocious  boy  of  sixteen,  but 
which,  emanating  from  his  tiny  frame,  were 
uncanny.  He  was  the  most  regular  of  all  the 
princes  in  his  attendance  at  school,  occupying 
a  little  high  chair  beside  the  tutor;  and  when 

98 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

his  brothers  went  out  to  ride,  he  went,  too,  sit- 
ting on  a  silk  pad  in  front  of  the  Englishman's 
saddle.  Every  night  he  carried  his  little  slate 
home  with  him,  and  when  Lionel  suggested 
that  he  leave  it  in  the  schoolroom  with  the 
others,  he  shook  his  head  vehemently.  "No! 
No!  I  must  take  it!"  he  insisted;  and  he  pre- 
served the  English  words  on  his  slate  from 
erasure  with  the  greatest  care,  not  even  per- 
mitting his  bodyguard  to  carry  it. 

One  day,  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  the 
Sultan  himself  visited  the  schoolroom.  The 
princes  and  the  tutor  rose,  and  Bayazet,  who 
was  pinned  in  his  chair,  raised  his  hands  above 
his  head,  to  give  the  impression  of  rising. 

The  Sultan  returned  the  salute  of  his  sons, 
then  approached  Bayazet  and  asked:  — 

"Art  thou  also  learning  to  be  a  man?" 

"The  sultana,  my  mother,  has  already  taught 
me  that,"  Bayazet  replied.  "Addam"  teaches 
me  other  things.  See!"  Painstakingly  he  wrote 
on  his  slate:  "I  love  my  father."  He  read  it  to 
the  Padishah,  and  translated  it. 

The  Sultan  laughed,  and  caressed  the  boy's 
long,  dark  curls,  which  framed  his  thin,  sensi- 

99 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

tive  face.  He  touched  the  jewels  embroidered 
on  the  ribbon  which  kept  the  boy's  hair  from 
falling  into  his  eyes. 

"These  are  mean  jewels,  my  son,  for  such 
a  clever  lad  as  thou  art.  Tell  the  Sultana,  thy 
mother,  that  she  must  ask  me  for  better 


ones." 


Bayazet's  head  was  proudly  tossed.  "Must 
the  sultana,  my  mother,  beg  for  jewels,  Padi- 
shah, father?  If  I  am  a  good  lad,  may  I  not 
receive  the  jewels  without  my  mother  asking 
for  them?" 

The  Sultan  frowned.  "Thou  art  too  proud 
for  thy  mother,  my  son.  And  for  thy  father, 
what  hast  thou  in  thy  heart?" 

Bayazet  put  his  ten  finger-tips  to  his  lips, 
then  laid  his  fingers  on  his  head,  as  the  Turks 
do  to  express  respect.  "My  father  is  the  Calif 
of  the  Faithful,  the  Shadow  of  Allah  on  Earth 
—  so  the  sultana,  my  mother,  teaches  me." 

The  Sultan  smiled.  He  detached  a  large  em- 
erald from  the  string  of  jewels  he  was  play- 
ing with,  and  asked  the  Englishman  to  tie  it 
to  the  boy's  ribbon.  Graciously  salaaming,  he 
left  the  room.  After  this  it  became  his  custom 

100 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

occasionally  to  drop  in  on  his  sons  at  their 
studies,  and  while  he  took  notice  of  them  all, 
it  was  manifest  to  Lionel  that  his  interest  was 
keener  in  little  Bayazet  than  in  any  of  the 
others. 

To  Lala  Sheddin  the  tutor  explained  that 
since  Bayazet  was  so  much  younger  than  his 
brothers,  it  would  be  well  if  he  could  have  him 
alone  for  some  time  each  day.  The  eunuch  gave 
his  consent  at  once.  Thus  Bayazet,  in  addition 
to  his  morning  hours,  came  to  "his  man"  for 
an  hour  in  the  afternoon,  before  any  of  his 
brothers  arrived.  During  this  hour  Lionel  gave 
Bayazet  certain  setting-up  exercises,  to  broaden 
and  strengthen  his  little  frame,  —  exercises 
which  the  other  princes  would  have  considered 
beneath  their  dignity,  —  and  during  this  hour, 
also,  Lionel  gradually  began  instilling  into  the 
lad  principles  and  a  mode  of  thought  more 
suited  to  the  son  of  an  English  gentleman  than 
to  the  son  of  an  Osmanli  ruler.  And  as  he  came 
to  know  him  better,  he  learned  that  he  could 
trust  Bayazet  never  to  betray  by  the  slightest 
sign  that  he  adopted  a  different  attitude  toward 
him. 

101 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

Although  Manlove  Pasha  had  occasion  to 
come  to  the  palace  every  week  or  two,  he  had 
not  seen  his  protege  since  the  day  he  entrusted 
him  to  Lala  Sheddin,  having  understood  from 
the  latter  that  it  would  be  advisable  for  the 
tutor  to  see  few  visitors. 

Two  months  had  elapsed  when  one  day  the 
head  eunuch  invited  Manlove  to  stay  and  take 
luncheon  with  his  fellow  countryman.  The 
older  Englishman  was  very  curious  to  see  how 
Lionel  was  standing  the  monotony  and  confine- 
ment of  his  position.  He  was  surprised  to  find 
his  young  friend  not  only  resigned,  but  appar- 
ently contented.  It  puzzled  the  admiral. 

"But  what  do  you  do  when  you  are  not  tutor- 
ing?" he  inquired. 

"My  work  takes  up  a  good  deal  of  my  time. 
Then  I  have  to  prepare  the  lessons  —  you  know 
I  have  to  be  rather  circumspect  in  what  I  touch 
on.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  schoolroom?  I 
tried  to  keep  things  simple,"  he  explained, 
when  they  came  to  the  schoolroom,  "but  see!" 
The  plain  desks  were  already  partly  carved 
with  great  elaboration;  the  benches  were  cov- 
ered with  precious  rugs;  the  walls  were  hung 

102 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

with  satins,  on  which  in  gold  thread  were  em- 
broidered mottoes  from  the  Koran.  "You  see 
they  are  making  sure  that  any  evil  effects  of  my 
teaching  shall  be  exorcised." 

Manlove  noticed  the  child's  high  chair,  cov- 
ered with  hand-woven  cloth  of  gold,  standing 
on  the  platform  beside  the  tutor's  desk. 

"You  haven't  babies,  too,  have  you?"  he 
inquired. 

"Only  one  little  chap  four  years  old.  Some- 
times I  think  he's  the  oldest  one  of  the  lot, 
though." 

"I  had  no  idea  they  had  such  schoolrooms  in 
the  palace." 

"They  did  n't.  I  had  to  draw  the  design  for 
these  desks,  and  the  palace  carpenters  made 
them.  Of  course  I  did  not  mean  to  have  them 
carved  —  nor  all  that  frippery  on  the  walls. 
The  mothers  sent  the  rugs  and  brocades." 

"They're  pretty  little  fellows,  the  princes, 
are  n't  they?  I  suppose  it's  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  since  the  mothers  are  chosen  solely  for  their 
beauty.  Who  is  the  little  chap  that  sits  up 
beside  you?" 

"Bayazet  is  his  name,  and  he,  at  least,  is 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

better  than  pretty.  In  fact,  if  it  did  n't  sound 
ridiculous,  I  should  say  that  he  was  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  personalities  I  have  ever  met." 

"H'm!  Well,  they'll  probably  manage  to 
stifle  that  before  he's  much  older.  What  is  in 
the  other  room?" 

"It's  the  music-room.  Come  and  see  it." 

In  this  other  room,  besides  the  satins,  the 
precious  rugs,  the  mother-of-pearl  tables,  and 
some  golden  goblets,  stood  a  piano,  a  harp,  and 
other  musical  instruments. 

"It's  a  fortunate  thing  that  I  knew  a  little 
about  music,"  Lionel  observed.  "It's  the  one 
thing  they  take  an  active  pleasure  in." 

"You  inherit  that  from  your  mother,  Lionel. 
I  never  have  heard  a  professional  whose  playing 
on  the  harp  I  liked  as  well  as  hers." 

"  She  taught  me.  We  used  to  play  together  a 
good  deal." 

They  sat  down  in  the  music-room,  lighted 
their  pipes,  and  took  the  comfort  in  each  other's 
company  which  fellow  countrymen  find  in  a 
foreign  land. 

"Who  are  your  companions  here —  aside 
from  the  princes?"  Manlove  asked,  still  seeking 

104 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

for  some  logical  reason  for  the  younger  man's 
apparent  contentment. 

"Lala  Sheddin  is  my  only  social  visitor.  I 
understand  there  used  to  be  some  other  foreign 
tutors;  but  he  has  got  rid  of  them —  in  one  way 
or  another,"  Lionel  replied,  thinking  of  the  fate 
of  the  one  whose  curiosity  had  carried  him 
twenty-seven  paces  too  near  the  women's  gar- 
dens. "There  are,  of  course,  scores  of  religious 
teachers  for  the  boys,  but  I  can't  say  that  they 
have  made  any  overtures  to  me.  In  fact,  con- 
sidering what  a  little  city  the  place  really  is, 
with  all  the  Sultan's  brothers  and  their  families 
and  retainers,  I  have  met  singularly  few  per- 
sons. About  the  only  ones  I  have  had  to  prac- 
tice my  Turkish  on  are  the  gardeners  I  see  when 
I  go  out  for  a  stroll.  Each  man's  life  seems  to 
run  according  to  the  planning  of  some  master 
mind." 

"Yes,  Lala  Sheddin's,"  Manlove  said  with  a 
nod.  "He  has  been  running  the  palace  for  close 
on  forty  years  now."  Presently  he  added,  in  a 
puzzled  tone:  "You  seem  so  contented,  Lionel." 

"Did  n't  you  expect  me  to  be?"  the  younger 
man  asked,  smiling. 

105 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Oh,  I  expected  you  to  make  good,  but  to  be 
contented  here,  —  no,  I  can't  say  I  did." 

"You  trusted  me,  and  Lala  Sheddin  trusts 
me.  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  satisfactory 
that  is,  after  years  of —  living  under  a  cloud." 

For  a  time  they  puffed  at  their  pipes  in 
silence. 

"Had  your  mother  lived,"  Manlove  said  at 
last,  "it  would  have  been  different." 

"If  only  father  had  n't  insisted  on  my  going 
into  the  Church.  The  thought  of  making  it  a 
profession,  when  I  had  no  vocation  for  it,  seemed 
to  rouse  all  the  worst  in  me.  Still,  that  was  no 
reason  why  I  should  have  gone  to  the  dogs." 

"Well,  you've  come  safely  back,  and  you 
may  be  a  stronger  man  for  having  extricated 
yourself.  And  I  shall  see  to  it  that  you  don't 
have  to  stay  here  indefinitely:  I'm  on  the  look- 
out for  a  more  congenial  post  for  you,  outside 
the  palace." 

Dismay  gripped  Lionel  at  the  prospect.  "Er 
—  I  would  n't  trouble  about  that.  The  fact  is 
I  'd  rather  stay  here  for  a  while.  It  —  er — pays 
well,  you  know."  He  seized  on  the  most  tangi- 
ble argument,  and  brought  forth  a  roll  of  bills. 

106 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Lala  Sheddin  paid  me  this  morning,  in  ad- 
vance, and  asked  me  to  get  you  to  invest  the 
money  in  England  in  my  own  name,  which  he 
does  not  wish  to  have  identified  with  the  name 
I  bear  as  tutor.  I  don't  know  why  he  made 
these  stipulations;  but  he  usually  has  some 
good  reason  for  all  he  does." 

"He  knows  your  real  name,  then?" 

"Yes.  He  asked  me,  and  I  told  him.  Will 
you  —  er  —  repay  yourself  out  of  this  the 
money  you  lent  me  when  I  first  came?" 

"Quite  so,  and  I  will  send  the  rest  to  Eng- 
land. But  you'll  want  to  keep  out  something 
for  current  expenses,  won't  you." 

"The  palace,  apparently,  attends  to  my  cur- 
rent expenses.  Lala  Sheddin  gave  me  a  purse 
full  of  silver  soon  after  I  came,  but  I  Ve  hardly 
touched  it.  Everything  I  ask  for  comes  to  me 
without  payment.  The  odd  thing  is  that,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  make  out,  the  person  who  gets 
me  what  I  want  is  the  imperial  cook." 

Manlove  broke  into  immoderate  laughter. 

"Yes,  he  would  be  the  man  to  do  it,"  he  ex- 
claimed, when  he  recovered  his  gravity.  "You 
have  n't  met  him  yet,  I  presume.  Turkey  is 

107 


THE   GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

certainly  the  place  for  incongruities.  The  cook 
is  a  Greek  of  very  high  birth,  and  one  of  the 
cleverest  men  in  the  empire.  He  has  been  gov- 
ernor of  various  provinces,  and  a  Councilor  of 
State.  His  hobby  used  to  be  food.  To  hear  him 
describe  the  cooking  of  some  of  the  dishes  he 
invented  was  like  listening  to  a  poem;  and  if 
you  were  lucky  enough  to  be  invited  to  eat  one 
of  his  dishes  —  well,  you  knew  how  a  poem 
tasted.  He  used  to  say  that  food  would  be  his 
undoing  —  and  it  was.  One  day  he  happened 
to  describe  one  of  his  dishes  to  the  Sultan.  The 
Sultan  commanded  him  to  descend  to  his 
kitchen  and  prepare  the  dish.  After  he  tasted 
it,  he  at  once  created  the  Greek  head  cook  of 
the  palace."  Manlove  broke  into  fresh  laugh- 
ter at  the  thought.  "The  Sultan  certainly 
gained  a  good  cook,  though  the  State  lost  one 
of  its  ablest  men.  However,  he  and  Lala  Shed- 
din  get  along  famously  together,  so  perhaps  the 
State  has  lost  the  statesman  in  appearance 
only." 

"But  does  n't  the  Greek  mind  being  reduced 
to  a  cook?" 

"Oh,  no.  It  makes  no  difference  in  his  social 
108 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

position,  and  the  whole  thing  is  a  huge  joke 
among  the  diplomats.  As  for  Anton  Effendi 
himself,  he  says  he  has  more  money  now  than 
he  ever  had  before;  for  he  receives  his  salary 
punctually.  If  he  does  n't,  he  neglects  the  cook- 
ing, and  that  is  of  far  more  importance  to  the 
Sultan  than  if,  as  Councilor  of  State,  he  had 
refused  to  attend  to  his  duties.  The  Sultan  can 
run  the  government  himself — but  he  can't 
cook."  Manlove  rose  to  go,  and  held  out  his 
hand  for  the  roll  of  bills.  "How  much  is  there  ? " 
he  asked. 

"A  thousand  pounds." 

"A  thousand  pounds,"  the  older  man  re- 
peated slowly.  "That's  not  bad  —  especially 
paid  in  advance." 

He  stood  with  the  roll  of  bills  in  his  hand,  his 
eyes  narrowed,  pondering.  He  had  been  so  long 
in  Turkey  that  instinctively  he  searched  for  the 
underlying  motive.  "I  wonder  if  he  paid  all 
his  tutors  at  that  rate?"  he  murmured. 


CHAPTER  IX 


No  salary  had  been  specified  when  Lionel 
first  came  to  the  palace.  The  thousand  pounds 
he  had  entrusted  to  Manlove  Pasha  he  had 
supposed  to  be  his  salary  for  the  coming  year; 
but  six  months  later  Lala  Sheddin  gave  him 
two  thousand  pounds  more,  with  no  explana- 
tion, but  with  the  same  instruction  for  its  safe 
investment  in  England, 

Again,  six  months  after  the  second  payment, 

the  eunuch  haruifd  to  the  Knglishman  a  fat 
roll  of  bills. 

"But  I  have  already  had  my  salary,"  stam- 
mered LJoneL  "You  gave  me  a  thousand 
pounds  a  year  ago,  and  then  two  thousand 
more,  and  now  this — " 

"Five  thousand  pounds  sterling,"  Lala 
Sheddin  concluded  with  a  nod. 

"Really,  I  have  already  been  overpaid," 
Lionel  protested. 

"TTiere  is  no  intrinsic  value  to  any  work," 
no 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

the  eunuch  declared  sententiously.  "It  is  the 
man  who  does  the  work  who  has  the  value. 
Every  day  you  are  worth  more  to  me,  and  what 
I  am  able  to  pay  you  I  do  not  consider  enough. 
When  you  leave  here  I  wish  you  to  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  live  in  your  country  as  your  father's  son 
should  live.  This  only  makes  eight  thousand 
pounds  placed  in  England  to  your  name." 

A  feeling  of  dismay  swept  over  the  English- 
man. "  I  thought  I  was  to  stay  here  a  long  time, 
I  —  I  have  become  very  fond  of  Bayazet.  I 
should  like  to  stay  here  so  long  as  he  needs  a 
tutor." 

Lala  Sheddin  waved  his  hand.  <cWho  are  we 
to  guess  what  the  future  holds  in  store  for  us? 
All  we  can  do  is  to  prepare.  Money  is  the  fuel 
of  life.  It  is  well  to  have  a  great  deal  of  that 
fuel.  Some  day  I  may  ask  you  to  do  something 
for  me." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  eunuch  had 
dropped  a  hint  of  a  service  which  the  English- 
man might  be  able  to  render  him  in  the  fu- 
ture. Could  Lala  Sheddin  be  providing  for  the 
time  when  something  might  go  wrong  and  his 
long  control  of  palace  affairs  come  to  an  end? 

in 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Feinting,  to  find  out  if  this  might  be  so,  Lionel 
asked:  — 

"Do  you  not  ever  wish  to  travel  and  see 
something  of  the  world?" 

The  eunuch  smiled.  "When  a  thought  is 
born  in  your  brain,  Lionel  Effendi,  tell  it  to  me 
straight.  You  think  I  give  you  this  money  so 
that  some  day  I  may  ask  a  part  of  it  back  from 
you?  Well,  if  the  fortunes  of  life  are  uncertain 
everywhere  in  the  world,  —  as  our  wise  ones 
tell  us,  —  how  doubly  uncertain  must  they  be 
here,  where  all  depends  on  the  whim  of  a  man 
who  has  never  known  what  it  was  to  curb  his 
whims." 

After  this  Lionel  had  no  compunction  in 
accepting  the  sums  of  money  which  Lala 
Sheddin  from  time  to  time  gave  him.  If  he 
could  do  anything  to  insure  the  comfort  of 
Lala  Sheddin  when  finally  his  tact  should  prove 
insufficient  to  meet  some  whim  of  his  imperial 
master's,  Lionel  was  only  too  glad  to  do  it;  for 
the  passing  time  gave  the  Englishman  a  more 
sincere  liking  and  admiration  for  this  sad-faced 
being,  who  had  so  much  power  and  so  few 
friends. 

112 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

One  day  Lala  Sheddin  asked  abruptly:  — 

"Tell  me,  does  Bayazet  ever  talk  to  you  about 
—  her?" 

"Y-e-s,  sometimes." 

The  eunuch  remained  silent  a  long  time. 

"You  know  she  studies  very  hard  with  her 
little  son.  That  is  why  he  always  insists  on 
carrying  his  slate  himself.  He  is  afraid  lest  the 
bodyguard  may  rub  out  some  of  the  words.  He 
takes  such  pains  with  her.  His  manner  is  so 
like  yours,  when  you  teach,  that  he  might  be 
your  son.  Now  we  always  speak  English  to- 
gether, she  and  I,  when  we  are  alone.  They  live 
very  close  to  each  other,  those  two  isolated 


ones." 


"Is  her  life  very  lonely?" 

"  She  never  sees  any  one,  except  her  women, 
and  Bayazet,  and  me.  There  are  two  eunuchs 
whom  I  trust,  who  sleep  outside  the  threshold 
of  her  apartment." 

"Has  she  no  relatives  —  no  one  who  belongs 
to  her?" 

"She  has  no  one  in  the  world  but  me,"  the 
eunuch  replied,  his  face  softened. 

"I  suppose  her  parents  are  dead,"  Lionel 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

said  tentatively,  fearing  lest  he  was  showing  too 
great  an  interest. 

"No  one  knows  about  them.  She  was  found 
as  a  year-old  baby  below  the  cliffs  of  the  island 
of  Crete,  after  one  of  the  Cretan  uprisings  had 
been  put  down.  On  that  unfortunate  island, 
when  word  comes  to  the  women  that  their  men 
have  been  defeated  by  the  Turkish  armies, 
they  either  set  fire  to  a  keg  of  powder  in  some 
house  where  they  all  assemble,  and  blow  them- 
selves up  with  their  babies;  or,  if  they  have  no 
powder,  they  hurl  themselves  from  the  cliffs 
into  the  sea.  Kizatesh  Sultana  must  have  been 
thrown  over  the  cliffs  by  her  mother,  and  have 
escaped  by  a  miracle.  A  soldier  found  her  at  the 
edge  of  the  sea,  playing  with  the  water.  He 
carried  her  inside  his  coat  to  keep  her  warm, 
and  fed  her  with  bread-crumbs  and  what  milk 
he  could  get.  He  brought  her  to  his  home,  and 
at  the  age  of  three,  sold  her  to  a  great  lady. 
There,  a  few  years  later,  the  sister  of  the  Sultan 
saw  her,  was  charmed  with  her,  —  as  all  were, 
—  and  brought  her  here.  She  was  a  delightful 
child,  full  of  joy,  laughter,  and  high  spirits. 
That  is  why  they  named  her  Kizatesh,  which 

114 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

means  'child  of  fire.'  She  was  like  a  lighted 
brazier,  giving  warmth  and  pleasure  to  all 
around  her.  She  could  coax  anything  out  of 
anybody,  and  all  the  women  used  her  to  squeeze 
privileges  out  of  me  —  for  I  was  her  slave  from 
the  first. 

"There  never  was  a  question  of  her  being 
destined  for  the  Padishah;  for  although  her 
eyes  were  wonderful,  she  was  small  and  slight, 
and  on  the  whole  not  beautiful  enough  for  a 
Sultan.  Yet,  on  her  fourteenth  birthday,  the 
Padishah,  spending  an  afternoon  with  his  sister, 
saw  her,  fell  under  her  spell,  and  chose  her  to 
be  his  wife.  There  was  no  chance  of  saving  her. 
Bayazet  was  born  that  same  year,  and  her 
foster  mother,  the  Sultan's  sister,  died  a  few 
months  later." 

The  eunuch  sat  silent,  looking  before  him, 
vacantly.  Finally  he  continued:  "Some  of  the 
Turkish  laws  protect  women.  One  of  these  says 
that  when  a  woman  is  about  to  have  a  child  she 
shall  not  be  molested  —  and  so  long  after  the 
birth  of  the  child  as  she  chooses  to  nurse  it. 
That  law  protected  Kizatesh  for  almost  two 
years.  And  as  the  mother  of  an  imperial  prince, 

"5 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

and  therefore  a  sultana,  she  was  given  her  own 
apartments,  her  own  allowance,  her  jewelry, 
and  her  retainers. 

"How  strange  it  is,"  Lala  Sheddin  mused,  to 
himself  rather  than  to  Lionel,  "that  the  little 
girl  whom  no  one  thought  beautiful  enough  for 
the  ruler  should  be  the  one  he  should  choose 
himself,  and  the  one  he  should  continue  to  want, 
when  he  tires  so  quickly  of  all  the  others.  At 
the  time  of  her  marriage,  Kizatesh  was  even 
younger  than  her  years,  playing  with  her  dolls, 
and  climbing  the  trees,  and  talking  to  the  birds 
and  the  flowers.  She  became  a  woman  in  a 
night  —  and  a  terrible  woman.  She  rebelled 
against  that  which  to  all  other  women  was  the 
highest  honor;  and  when  two  years  later  the 
Sultan  again  presented  his  affections  to  her,  she 
refused  to  listen  to  him. 

"Where  she  found  the  strength  to  resist,  the 
courage  to  dare  and  to  fight  for  her  freedom 
against  the  man  who  by  all  the  laws  was  her 
husband,  is  beyond  understanding.  Entreaties, 
jewels,  garments  —  all  were  of  no  avail.  Then 
the  Padishah  became  angry.  He  swore  that 
she  should  be  brought  to  her  senses  by  other 

116 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

means  than  love,  since  love  failed.  She  was  as 
unmoved  by  his  anger  as  she  had  been  by  his 
entreaties. 

"He  gave  me  a  dog  whip,  heavy  enough  to 
kill  a  bulldog,  and  ordered  me  to  go  and  beat  her 
—  me  who  would  have  given  my  life  to  bring 
her  lost  laughter  back  to  her  lips.  Things  are 
mixed  up  in  the  human  heart;  for  in  a  way  I 
was  glad  also  that  it  was  to  me  he  gave  the 
whip.  Had  he  put  it  into  the  hands  of  another 
eunuch,  I  believe  I  should  have  torn  him  to 
pieces. 

"I  went  to  her  room,  the  Sultan  remaining 
outside.  Lionel  Effendi,  what  would  you  have 
done  if  you  had  been  commanded  to  beat  a 
frail  girl  whom  you  had  seen  grow  up,  whom 
you  had  carried  on  your  shoulders,  and  whom 
you  loved  like  your  own  daughter?" 

The  knuckles  of  the  Englishman's  hands, 
clutching  the  arms  of  his  chair,  showed  white. 

"I  should  kill  the  man  instead,"  he  answered 
steadily. 

"And  if  the  man  were  your  emperor,  and 
your  master  —  what  then?" 

Lionel  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  paced  the 
117 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

length  of  the  room.  He  stopped  before  the 
eunuch,  and  said  hoarsely:  — 

"Lala  Sheddin,  don't  tell  me  that  you  beat 
her." 

"I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  all  this:  it  was 
not  kind,"  the  eunuch  replied.  "Why  should  I 
harrow  your  feelings  for  a  woman  who  is  noth- 
ing to  you?" 

"You  cannot  stop  now.  Tell  me  what  you 
did." 

"I  went  to  her  room,  and,  as  I  said,  he  sat 
outside.  He  could  not  see  us,  but  he  could  hear 
us.  By  a  sign  I  made  her  understand  this,  and 
then  I  said  to  her:  'Kizatesh  Sultana,  my  mas- 
ter and  your  husband  sends  you  his  love,  aftd 
asks  in  return  the  love  a  dutiful  wife  owes  to 
her  lord.  If  you  persist  in  refusing,  I  shall  have 
to  beat  you  with  this  whip.' 

"She  rose.  'Go  tell  your  master  that,  al- 
though I  bore  him  a  son,  I  have  no  love  for  him. 
I  was  a  child  —  he  made  me  a  woman;  but  that 
woman  can  never  be  his,  as  was  the  child.  And 
since  I  can  have  no  love  for  your  master —  do. 
his  bidding.' 

"She  was  like  a  delicate  flower,  defying  the 
118 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

wind  and  the  storm.  He,  from  outside,  cried, 
'Beat  her!  Let  me  hear  her  cry!' 

"I  have  known  many  dark  days  since  I  was 
born.  That  one  was  the  darkest.  Her  eyes,  like 
two  stars,  watched  me,  while  he  from  outside 
cried  again,  'Beat  her!  Beat  her!'  I  raised  the 
whip  and  struck  her  slight  shoulders.  She  was 
barely  seventeen  then,  yet  I  knew  that  I  could 
have  killed  her  by  beating  her,  and  no  cry 
would  have  crossed  her  lips.  After  the  first 
stroke,  I  turned  the  whip  on  my  own  legs,  and 
struck  and  struck  and  struck  them,  making 
low  moans,  pretending  that  it  was  she  who 
cried. 

"All  the  time  I  watched  for  the  slightest 
movement  of  the  portieres.  Thus,  when  he 
came  into  the  room  I  held  the  whip  over  her. 
He  strode  to  where  she  stood,  her  face  so  lifeless 
and  white  that  one  would  have  thought  it  was, 
indeed,  she  who  had  received  the  beating.  He 
took  her  chin  in  his  hand.  'Dost  thou  like  this 
better  than  love?'  he  inquired.  She  did  not 
reply.  '  This  will  bring  thee  to  thy  senses.  This 
will  teach  thee  to  love  thy  master.' 

"'This  will  teach  me  to  hate  my  master.' 
119 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

She  said  it  distinctly  and  fearlessly.  Never  in 
his  life  had  another  spoken  to  the  Sultan  as  she 
dared  to.  He  could  not  pretend  he  had  not 
heard. 

"  'How  many  times  must  I  have  thee  beaten  ?  * 
he  asked. 

"'As  many  as  it  will  take  to  kill  me.' 

"And  I,  looking  at  her  white  face  and  at  her 
large,  dark  eyes,  more  than  ever  like  stars,  won- 
dered what  made  him  want  her.  She  was  not 
made  for  such  as  he.  The  beating  brought  no 
results.  He  must  have  lain  awake  at  night, 
thinking  up  ways  of  tormenting  her,  but  noth- 
ing availed,  and  she  kept  her  sweet  self  to  her- 
self. Separating  her  from  her  child  —  the  first 
day  you  came  to  the  palace  —  was  a  master- 
stroke. I  feared  he  had  at  last  found  the  right 
weapon;  I  feared  she  would  succumb.  I  had  not 
counted  on  Bayazet  himself.  You  saw  how  it 
ended;  and  now  she  will  have  some  years  of 
peace." 

Lionel  raised  his  head  and  inhaled  a  long 
breath.  He  touched  his  forehead  with  the  back 
of  his  hand  and  found  it  wet  with  perspiration. 

"How  did  you  manage  it,  Lala  Sheddin?" 
1 20 


THIS   WILL   TEACH   ME  TO   HATE  MY   MASTER' 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

His  voice  was  weak  from  what  he  had  suffered 
while  listening  to  the  story  of  the  eunuch. 

"Magic!"  Lala  Sheddin  replied  laconically. 
"  It  is  of  great  value  to  me  that  the  Sultan's  life 
is  sacred,  and  must  be  preserved  even  at  the 
cost  of  permitting  others  to  escape  their  just 
punishment.  But  time  flies.  In  a  few  years  he 
will  again  be  free  to  trouble  her  —  and  he  has 
not  forgotten  her,  as  I  hoped  that  he  would. 
Daily  I  have  to  report  to  him  all  that  she  does. 
I  have  noticed  his  face  at  times  when  he  sat 
playing  with  his  beads, —  I  can  usually  tell 
when  he  is  thinking  of  her, —  and  the  diabolical 
expression  makes  me  shiver  for  her.  To  wait 
for  a  woman  nine  years  is  a  long  time  for  a  man 
like  him. 

"Although  I  worry,  she  does  not.  She  has  a 
childlike  trust  in  her  heart,  and  she  sits  up  there 
quite  contented,  with  her  son  on  her  lap,  learn- 
ing from  his  childish  lips  the  language  of  your 
people.  She  believes  implicitly  in  the  great 
Allah,  who  is  going  to  help  her  to  realize 
her  dreams  —  for  she  has  dreams,  impossible 
dreams,  Lionel  Effendi,  that  girl  up  there  in  her 
little  corner  of  the  palace.  They  would  stagger 

121 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

the  stanchest  of  brave  men,  yet  she  expects,  as 
I  said  before,  with  the  help  of  the  great  Allah, 
to  carry  them  through."  Rather  to  himself 
than  to  the  Englishman,  Lala  Sheddin  contin- 
ued :  "  I  don't  know  —  perhaps  there  is  a  great 
Allah.  I  never  used  to  believe  there  was,  but  of 
late —  I  don't  know  —  I  begin  to  think,  from 
certain  things,  that  perhaps  there  is  such  a 
force,  and  that  perhaps  the  faith  of  that  young 
mother  may  be  nearer  the  truth  than  my  own 
thoughts.  The  other  day  she  said  to  me:  'You 
may  laugh  if  you  like,  Lala  Sheddin,  but  I 
believe  those  clouds  we  see  up  there  in  the 
heavens  are  people's  dreams  traveling  toward 
Allah.'  'Foolish,'  I  answered,  'have  you  not 
seen  how  clouds  break  up  and  nothing  is  left 
of  them?'  'Some  do,'  was  her  reply.  'Those 
are  selfish  dreams  which  people  make  for  them- 
selves. But  I  have  watched  the  heavens  too 
long,  and  though  I  have  seen  clouds  disperse,  I 
have  also  seen  others  turn  from  dark  to  lighter 
and  lighter  hues  —  to  pink  and  gold  —  and 
slowly  rise  till  they  are  lost  to  sight.  I  know 
that  these  are  the  dreams  which  do  reach  the 
great  Allah.  My  dreams  used  to  be  black — 

122 


full  of  sadness  and  despair;  but  now  there  is 
light  in  them.  Some  day  will  come  rosy  hues, 
and  they  will  turn  to  gold,  and  will  ascend 
straight  to  the  great  throne.' 

"  I  let  her  dream,  Lionel  Effendi.  It  would  be 
wicked  to  take  the  dreams  from  a  girl's  heart. 
It  is  all  she  has,  and  as  I  said  before  her  faith  is 
so  great  that  I  sometimes  wonder  if  it  can  be 
quite  wrong.  At  any  rate,  in  my  old  age  she  is 
teaching  me  to  believe  in  the  great  Allah  —  me, 
who,  if  I  ever  thought  of  him  at  all,  thought 
of  him  only  to  curse  him." 


CHAPTER  X 

ON   BOARD  THE   SHIMSHEK 

THREE  years  had  passed  since  Lionel  Deguer- 
ney,  as  Burton  Adams,  became  tutor  to  the 
Ottoman  imperial  princes.  Manlove  Pasha,  on 
his  way  to  take  luncheon  with  him,  wondered 
how  Lionel  could  see  the  time  slip  by  with  such 
apparent  contentment.  As  a  stop-gap  for  a 
desperately  poor  man  it  had  been  all  very  well ; 
but  since  then  he  had  had  several  chances  for 
something  better.  There  must  be  more  to  the 
situation  than  met  the  eye.  To-day  he  was 
going  to  apply  a  test. 

During  luncheon  the  two  men  talked  of  cas- 
ual things,  of  England,  and  of  the  English  who 
drifted  out  to  the  East.  They  knew  that  the 
men  serving  them  did  not  understand  English,, 
yet  in  Turkey  the  habit  of  mistrust  becomes  so 
ingrained  that  it  is  impossible  to  throw  it  off. 
With  the  coffee  they  were  left  alone,  and  when 
they  had  lighted  their  cigars  Manlove  said:  — 

"My  sister  has  just  died,  Lionel." 
124 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"She  was  old  and  an  invalid,  and  had  been 
awaiting  her  call  for  years."  Manlove  did  not 
try  to  pretend  any  great  grief  for  the  sister, 
nearly  twenty  years  older  than  himself,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  for  many  years.  "  It  is  n't  her 
death  that  is  sad.  It  is  the  silence  and  the 
emptiness  of  the  manor." 

"Shall  you  return  to  England?  Of  course,  I 
should  miss  you  awfully,  but — " 

"No,  I've  lived  too  long  out  here.  I'm  fond 
of  this  dirty,  beautiful  Constantinople.  It  gets 
into  your  blood  after  a  while.  I  could  n't  live 
anywhere  else  if  I  tried." 

There  followed  a  silence,  while  Manlove  was 
shaping  the  words  of  a  proposition  he  was  going 
to  make  to  the  younger  man. 

"Lionel,  the  East  is  sort  of  a  disease.  I  don't 
want  you  to  catch  it.  I  want  you  to  get  out  of 
here.  You've  shown  your  mettle.  When  we 
first  met  I  told  you  that  I  knew  your  breed. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  you  in  my  mind  then : 
had  there  been,  I  should  feel  satisfied  now.  I 
may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  said  abruptly,  "that 
I  intend  to  make  you  my  heir.  I've  no  near 

125 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

relatives,  and  there's  no  entail  on  the  old  place, 
so  I  can  do  as  I  like." 

The  news  came  so  suddenly  that  Lionel  could 
hardly  take  it  in.  "That's  awf  ly  good  of  you," 
he  stammered,  tongue-tied  as  most  Englishmen 
are  when  they  try  to  express  deep  gratitude. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Manlove  went  on  briskly. 
"I'm  doing  it  for  my  own  pleasure.  But  here 
is  the  point  I  am  coming  to :  the  manor  needs 
a  young  mistress  and  a  young  master,  and  the 
echo  of  children's  laughter.  I  want  you  to  go 
home,  and,  when  you  find  a  nice  girl  you  like, 
marry  her.  There 's  plenty  of  money  for  both 
of  us :  not  the  slightest  reason  why  you  should 
wait  till  after  I'm  dead  to  begin  enjoying  it. 
Besides,  I  want  to  feel  that  I  have  a  family, 
and  that  it  is  growing  up;  and  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  think  I  could  run  up  to  England  any 
time  and  find  my  room  all  ready  for  me.  Now, 
what  do  you  say?" 

"It — it's  awfully  good  of  you,"  Lionel  re- 
peated. 

"Then  you  will  go?" 

Lionel  could  feel  the  blood  mounting  to  his 
forehead.  He  cleared  his  throat  twice.  Man- 

126 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

love,  pretending  to  be  examining  his  cigar, 
watched  him  keenly. 

"I —  I  can't  go  just  now,"  at  length  Lionel 
blurted  out.  "I'm —  Lala  Sheddin — that  is 
to  say,  I  have  to  stay  on  here  for  a  while,  you 
know.  Lala  Sheddin  has  treated  me  uncom- 
monly decently,  and  I  know  he  counts  on  my 
staying." 

"H'm!  Yes,  he  does  seem  to  appreciate  your 
work,"  Manlove  replied,  assenting.  "I  sup- 
pose it  is  difficult  to  get  just  the  right  man  for 
a  place  like  this." 

Lionel  was  too  much  relieved  at  escaping 
from  the  subject  of  returning  to  England  to 
pay  much  attention  to  the  other's  unnaturally 
easy  acquiescence.  Manlove  let  the  matter 
drop,  as  if  it  were  of  small  consequence.  Al- 
though he  had  obtained  for  Lionel  his  present 
position,  and  had  just  announced  his  intention 
of  conferring  great  benefits  upon  him,  he  did 
not  feel  justified  in  fofcing  a  confidence  mani- 
festly withheld  from  him.  Yet  the  uneasiness 
about  Lionel,  which  had  been  accumulating  in 
his  mind,  became  still  more  acute.  Why  should 
the  boy  be  so  averse  to  leaving  the  palace? 

127 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

That  the  reason  was  pure  devotion  to  pedagogy 
never  once  entered  Manlove's  mind.  What 
other  cause  —  barring  necessity  —  would  keep 
a  man  like  Lionel  in  such  a  situation?  The  ages 
have  given  the  answer  —  a  woman ! 

The  thought  sent  the  gooseflesh  creeping  up 
the  admiral's  spine.  A  woman  —  in  the  palace 
of  the  Sultan!  To  such  a  situation  there  could 
come  only  one  end:  the  death — it  might  be 
through  torture  —  of  this  young  man  whom  he 
had  come  to  regard  as  a  son.  Manlove  had  gone 
far  in  the  world,  quite  as  much  by  paying  no 
attention  to  what  was  no  concern  of  his  as  by 
strict  attention  to  what  did  concern  him.  Now 
he  laid  aside  his  principles  without  a  qualm. 
By  interference  he  might  not  only  gain  no 
thanks  from  Lionel  himself,  but  he  might  make 
a  bitter  enemy  of  some  woman  —  some  sultana 
even  —  who  would  find  a  subtle  means  of  re- 
venging herself  upon  him. 

Of  all  this  tumult  in  his  mind  he  gave  no 
sign.  He  smoked  on  as  placidly,  chatted  as 
indifferently,  as  if  he  were  interested  in  nothing 
beyond  the  brand,  of  cigar  he  was  smoking. 
When  he  rose  to  go,  he  asked  casually: — 

128 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

"When  are  you  coming  to  see  me  again?" 

"I  can't  tell.  You  know  Lala  Sheddin  does 
n't  approve  of  my  asking  for  a  leave  of  absence 
often." 

"It's  three  months  since  you  last  took  a  trip 
with  me  on  the  yacht.  That  is  n't  very  often. 
I  '11  speak  to  him  about  it  and  see  if  he  has  any 
objection  to  your  coming  the  end  of  next  week." 

"That  would  be  jolly.  And  —  er — you 
know  how  grateful  I  am  for  all  you  are  doing 
for  me." 

"Oh,  that's  nothing."  Manlove  waved  away 
the  subject.  "It  gives  me  as  much  pleasure  as 
it  does  you.  Well,  good-bye." 

According  to  instructions  he  had  received, 
Lionel  never  accompanied  his  friend.  As  Man- 
love  was  walking  away  from  the  pavilion,  he 
was  joined  by  Lala  Sheddin. 

"How  do  you  find  your  young  friend?"  the 
eunuch  asked. 

"He  seems  well  and  happy.  I  think  that  an 
occasional  change  would  be  good  for  him, 
though." 

"Did  he  speak  about  it?"  Lala  Sheddin 
asked,  with  a  note  of  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

129 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"He  said  nothing  about  it  to  me,  but  I  am 
sure  it  would  be  good  for  him.  This  restricted 
life  is  quite  a  change  from  what  he  has  always 
been  used  to." 

The  head  eunuch  considered  the  matter 
thoughtfully.  "Perhaps  it  would,"  he  muttered. 
"Perhaps  it  would  even  be  wiser  if  from  time 
to  time  he  went  away  for  a  few  days.  Yes,  you 
are  right." 

"  I  suggested  a  day  on  my  yacht,  next  week, 
to  him,  and  he  seemed  pleased  with  the  idea. 
Would  that  suit  your  plans?" 

"He  shall  come.  But  don't  forget  that  it 
would  be  well  if  your  friend  and  the  imperial 
tutor  should  not  be  associated  in  the  minds  of 
others  as  the  same  person." 

Manlove  nodded  assent,  and  took  his  leave. 

These  same  instructions  Lala  Sheddin  im- 
pressed again  upon  Lionel,  when  he  gave  him 
leave  of  absence  at  the  end  of  the  following 
week. 

Manlove  received  his  guest  with  more  than 
his  accustomed  cordiality,  on  welcoming  him 
aboard  his  yacht. 

"Sorry  we  can't  start  out  at  once.    Some- 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

thing  has  gone  wrong  with  the  engines,"  he 
explained.  "It  isn't  often  I'm  caught  like 
this.  I  suppose  it  has  to  happen  now  and  then 
to  remind  me  that  the  Shimshek  sails  under 
the  Turkish  flag." 

The  delay  did  not  trouble  Lionel  at  all.  He 
did  not  even  mind  when,  an  hour  later,  the 
engineer  came  up  to  report  that  the  engine 
would  not  be  in  order  in  time  to  steam  through 
the  Dardanelles  before  sunset,  when  all  move- 
ment of  ships  had  to  end. 

"We'll  have  to  spend  the  night  at  anchor 
here,  instead  of  in  cruising  among  the  islands," 
Manlove  said  regretfully.  "But  we'll  make  an 
early  start,  and  be  ready  to  pass  through  the 
straits  just  as  soon  as  the  sunrise  opens  up 
navigation." 

"Don't  bother  on  my  account,"  Lionel  re- 
sponded. "I'm  quite  happy  here.  You  can't 
imagine  what  a  lark  it  is  to  me  just  to  be  out- 
side the  walls  enclosing  the  palace  grounds." 

"Why  don't  you  come  out  for  good?  You're 
wasting  yourself  in  there,  my  boy." 

Again  Manlove  noticed  the  constraint  that 
came  over  Lionel  at  mention  of  this  topic;  but 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

he  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further,  much  to 
the  relief  of  the  younger  man. 

The  yacht  was  rather  a  luxurious  little  craft. 
It  had  four  staterooms  and  mounted  two  quick- 
firers.  On  occasion  it  performed  the  duties  of 
a  revenue  cutter,  and  it  was  in  quite  the  most 
ship-shape  condition  of  any  of  the  Sultan's 
ships. 

A  lovely  cloudless  evening  followed  the  long, 
warm  afternoon.  They  had  dinner  on  deck, 
with  McVey,  the  captain  of  the  yacht,  a  tall, 
taciturn  Scotchman,  who  took  no  part  in  the 
conversation,  and  left  them  as  soon  as  the  meal 
was  over.  With  the  eagerness  of  a  boy  Lionel 
watched  all  the  characteristic  sights  about  him : 
the  slim  caiques,  with  their  picturesque  Turkish 
boatmen;  the  heavier  barges,  manned  by  de- 
scendants of  the  Crusaders,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
centuries  that  have  passed,  still  speak  their 
native  Genovese.  Constantinople,  which  daily 
sees  the  tribes  of  all  the  earth,  assuredly  is  not 
the  melting-pot:  in  it  every  nationality  clings 
to  its  own  language  and  customs  with  time- 
defying  tenacity. 

With  delicious  Turkish  coffee  and  good  cigars, 
132 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

the  night  sank  upon  them.  The  seven  hills  of 
Constantinople  were  but  ill-lighted,  while  old 
Stamboul  across  the  way  showed  a  solid  dark 
mass,  with  ghostly  minarets  rising  above  it. 
The  light  in  the  Tower  of  Galata  alone  burned 
brightly. 

While  not  reverting  to  the  plan  he  had  pro- 
posed at  their  last  interview,  Manlove  led  the 
talk  back  to  old  England,  to  "home,"  its  quiet, 
satisfactory  pleasures,  and  its  endearing  land- 
scape :  he  almost  talked  himself  into  a  wish  to 
return  to  England;  but  through  it  all  Lionel 
gave  no  sign  that  he  was  similarly  moved. 
There  was  always  the  assumption,  of  course, 
that  some  time,  in  the  future,  he  would  return; 
but  it  was  that  future  whose  confines  do  not 
overlap  the  edges  of  the  present.  If  Manlove 
hoped  to  melt  the  young  man's  heart  with 
homesickness,  he  failed  signally. 

They  sat  up  very  late.  Once  or  twice  Lionel 
asked  if  he  were  not  keeping  his  host  up  too 
long. 

"No,  don't  let's  go  to  bed  yet.  Such  nights 
are  not  to  be  wasted  in  sleeping.  Besides,  we 
can  snooze  as  late  as  we  like  in  the  morning.  I 

133 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

always  break  my  early  rising  rules  on  these  little 
cruises.  Sometimes  I  don't  even  get  up  for 
luncheon." 

It  was  three  o'clock  before  they  went  to  bed, 
and  the  chill  of  the  night  air  made  Lionel  glad 
to  dive  under  the  bedclothes.  He  slept  like  a 
top.  Once  he  became  dimly  conscious  that  the 
engines  were  throbbing,  and  knew  that  the 
yacht  was  under  way.  A  long  time  afterwards, 
it  seemed  to  him,  he  half-wakened.  His  cabin 
was  still  dark,  and  he  turned  over  and  again 
plunged  into  delicious  slumber. 

When  finally  no  more  sleep  remained  in  him, 
he  was  surprised  to  find  his  cabin  still  dark.  He 
peered  forth  from  his  berth  and  discovered  that 
a  heavy  covering  of  some  kind  was  hanging  down 
outside  his  porthole,  keeping  out  the  light.  "Very 
thoughtful  of  Manlove,"  he  ruminated,  and  felt 
under  his  pillow  for  his  watch.  "Whew!"  It 
was  past  eleven.  He  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
dressed  hastily. 

Out  in  the  saloon  the  cabin  boy  was  indus- 
triously cleaning,  and  gave  him  a  cheery 
greeting. 

"The  admiral  up. yet?"  Lionel  asked. 
134 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"No,  sir,  I  have  n't  seen  him,"  the  boy  re- 
plied. "I  have  orders,  sir,  not  to  waken  him. 
I  will  bring  you  your  breakfast,  sir,  directly." 

Lionel  ate  his  breakfast  with  an  excellent 
appetite  and  went  on  deck.  The  yacht  was 
steaming  steadily  toward  the  west,  and  he  won- 
dered whither  they  were  bound.  He  sauntered 
forward  to  McVey,  to  make  some  inquiries. 
The  replies  of  the  Scotchman  were  so  short 
and  non-committal  that  they  bordered  on  rude- 
ness, and  Lionel  decided  to  bother  him  no 
more. 

Luncheon  was  eaten  by  the  two  in  determined 
British  silence.  Then  Lionel  stretched  himself 
out  in  a  steamer  chair,  to  doze  the  time  away 
until  Manlove  should  appear.  The  hours  passed 
pleasantly  enough,  if  monotonously,  until  the 
striking  of  seven  bells  warned  Lionel  that  it 
was  half-past  three,  with  no  sign  either  of  Man- 
love's  appearance  or  of  turning  back.  He  be- 
came uneasy  now  on  his  own  account.  He  had 
understood  that  the  yacht  was  to  return  to- 
night to  Constantinople.  While  no  navigator, 
it  seemed  certain  to  him  that  they  had  barely 
time  to  return  to  the  Dardanelles  before  sunset; 

135 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

and  it  was  a  good  long  stretch  from  there  to 
Constantinople. 

Since  McVey  was  so  unapproachable  he  de- 
cided to  go  down  and  rout  out  Manlove  himself. 

He  rapped  on  the  door. 

There  came  no  response. 

After  knocking  three  times,  he  tried  the 
handle.  It  turned,  and  Lionel  entered. 

Manlove  was  not  in  the  stateroom,  nor  was 
there  any  sign  of  its  having  been  occupied.  For 
twenty  seconds  Lionel  stood  dumbfounded ;  then 
he  made  his  way  swiftly  to  Captain  McVey. 

As  the  latter  perceived  the  young  English- 
man's impetuous  approach,  the  ghost  of  a  smile 
flickered  over  his  face. 

*  "Where  is  Manlove  Pasha?"  Lionel  de- 
manded sternly.  "And  where  is  this  yacht 
bound?" 

"WeVe  cleared  for  Piraeus,  the  port  of 
Athens,"  McVey  replied  coolly.  "As  for  the 
admiral's  whereabouts,  I  canna  tell  ye  that; 
but  he  bade  me  gie  ye  this,  when  a  suitable 
time  should  arrive." 

He  took  a  sealed  letter  from  his  breast  pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  Lionel. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PACT 

WHEN  on  the  fourth  day  Lionel  failed  to 
return  to  the  palace,  and  Lala  Sheddin' s  mes- 
sage to  Manlove  Pasha  only  elicited  the  reply 
that  his  excellency  was  detained  at  home  by 
illness,  Lala  Sheddin  decided  to  begin  an  inves- 
tigation. He  easily  appeased  the  languid  curi- 
osity of  the  princes  about  the  cause  of  their 
tutor's  absence.  Bayazet  alone  wrathfully  re- 
fused to  accept  any  excuse,  and  to  him  the 
eunuch  promised  to  go  and  bring  back  "his 
man."  Then  he  ordered  a  carriage,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  left  the  precincts  of  the 
palace. 

Manlove  Pasha  knew  the  habits  of  Lala 
Sheddin.  He  was  correspondingly  astonished 
to  find  himself,  in  his  own  sitting-room,  face 
to  face  with  the  eunuch. 

"Hullo,  Lala  Sheddin!  What  chance  brings 
you  here?"  His  tone  was  a  trifle  too  bluff  and 
hearty. 

137 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

"You  did  not  expect  me?"  Lala  Sheddin 
asked  suavely. 

"Expect  you!  Why  should  I?" 

"To  inquire  after  your  health.  You  are  not 
often  ill." 

"Oh,  I  'm  quite  fit  again.  I  was  just  knocked 
up  for  a  day,"  Manlove  said  airily. 

Lala  Sheddin,  unbidden,  settled  himself  com- 
fortably in  a  big  armchair,  and  pointed  to  an- 
other chair  near  his. 

"  Sit  down,  Manlove  Pasha,  and  tell  me  where 
Lionel  Effendi  is." 

"Lionel  Effendi!  Didn't  he  return  to  the 
palace,  after  our  little  cruise?"  The  English- 
man's surprise  was  an  admirable  imitation. 

The  eunuch  gave  the  other  man  a  slow,  con- 
templative look.  "You  played  the  wrong  card, 
my  friend,  in  the  beginning.  Had  you  come  to 
the  palace  when  I  sent  for  you,  you  might  have 
pretended  with  a  certain  amount  of  success  that 
you  did  not  know  where  Lionel  Effendi  was. 
Now  I  have  come  here  to  find  out  where  he  is 
—  and  you  are  to  tell  me." 

Manlove  Pasha  had  not  much  confidence 
in  the  possibility  of  hoodwinking  Lala  Shed- 

138 


THE^GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

din,  yet  he  continued  "to  play  the  wrong 
card." 

"Why  do  you  think  that  I  know  where  Lionel 
Effendiis?" 

"Because  you  do." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't." 

Lala  Sheddin  pondered  this  a  few  seconds. 
"From  your  calculations,  then,  where  do  you 
think  that  he  ought  to  be?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Lala  Sheddin  became  lost  in  thought.  When 
he  spoke  again  it  was  with  a  slow  earnestness 
that  impressed  the  Englishman  with  his  entire 
sincerity. 

"There  is  no  man  living  who  loves  Lionel 
Effendi  better  than  I.  Perhaps  you,  Manlove 
Pasha,  know  how  it  feels  to  be  the  father  of  a 
son.  I  have  dreamed  of  mine:  when  that  boy 
came  to  the  palace,  the  son  of  my  imagination 
became  alive  in  him."  After  a  pause,  the  eunuch 
went  on:  "You  see,  you  need  not  be  afraid. 
Tell  me,  why  did  you  take  him  away?" 

"Lala  Sheddin,  I  will  not  fence  with  you  any 
more.  I  was  frightened.  It  did  not  seem  to  me 
natural  that  a  young  man  of  his  breeding  should 
139 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

be  willing  to  pass  his  life  as  a  tutor  when  other 
openings  were  offered  him.  I  know  you  pay  him 
well,  but  several  months  ago  I  offered  him  a 
position  which  could  not  help  being  far  more 
attractive  to  a  young  man  than  the  one  he  now 
holds.  He  refused  it.  The  other  day  I  told  him 
that  my  sister  was  dead,  and  that  I  meant  him 
to  be  my  sole  heir.  I  wanted  him  to  return  to 
England,  marry,  and  live  as  a  man  of  his  class 
should  live.  Not  only  did  he  refuse  to  do  this, 
but  he  told  me  that  he  must  stay  on  here  for  an 
indefinite  period.  Well,  what  I  had  suspected 
became  a  certainty  in  my  mind,  after  that.  I 
knew  that  there  must  be  some  woman  in  his 
life  —  and  that  woman  was  in  the  harem  of  the 
Sultan.  You  know  as  well  as  I  the  dangers  of 
such  an  intrigue.  A  minute  ago  you  spoke  of 
the  love  you  had  for  Lionel.  If  that  is  so,  you 
ought  to  be  glad  that  I  am  trying  to  save  him 
in  spite  of  himself." 

"My  friend,  you  have  made  a  mistake,"  Lala 
Sheddin  said,  slowly  and  impressively.  "You 
have  judged  the  boy  by  the  standard  of  ordi- 
nary men.  He  is  not  remaining  in  the  palace 
moved  by  the  desires  of  an  ordinary  man.  No! 

140 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

No!  You  have  made  a  mistake.  You  said,  just 
now,  that  you  were  trying  to  save  him  in  spite 
of  himself.  Then  you  did  not  talk  this  over  with 
Lionel  Effendi?  He  did  not  agree  to  leave?" 

"No;  but  I  am  in  hopes  that  by  this  time  he 
will  have  come  to  his  senses  and  will  do  as  I 
have  begged  him  to  do." 

"At  what  time  and  by  what  means  did  he 
leave  Constantinople?" 

"He  left  by  water,  the  night  he  dined  with 


me." 


"Where  was  he  to  be  landed?" 

"At  Piraeus." 

"If  he  does  as  you  wish  him  to  do,  he  will 
return  to  England  from  there?" 

"Yes." 

"If  he  does  not  —  then  he  comes  back  here? 
And  if  he  comes  back,  will  you  again  try  to  take 
him  away  when  I  tell  you  there  is  no  intrigue?" 

"Lala  Sheddin,"  Manlove  Pasha  said  ear- 
nestly, "will  you  tell  me  what  keeps  Lionel  in 
the  palace  ? " 

The  eunuch  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  into 
his  lined  face  crept  the  light  of  a  rare  expression, 
which  only  a  few  persons  had  ever  seen.  What 

141 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

was  human  and  kind  and  divine  became  alive 
in  him.  The  Englishman  marveled  at  what  he 
saw. 

"There  are  things  in  life,"  said  the  eunuch 
slowly,  "which  are  so  elusive  that  they  cannot 
be  put  into  words.  That  which  keeps  Lionel 
Effendi  in  the  palace  is  such  a  thing.  Ordinary 
men  could  not  understand  it:  if  it  were  put 
into  words  to  them,  they  would  only  laugh  it  to 
scorn.  Other  men  might  give  their  lives  for  it; 
for  it  is  a  dream  —  a  dream  which  makes  life 
infinitely  more  worth  while  than  the  possession 
of  a  woman  of  the  greatest  beauty.  Don't  take 
from  the  boy  that  which  makes  his  life  what  it 
is.  There  is  work  in  the  palace  —  work  to  be 
done  only  by  such  as  he.  If  there  should  ever 
be  danger  for  him,  I  swear  that  I  will  send  for 
you.  But  now,  let  him  come  back  to  me.  I  am 
a  lonely  old  man.  That  boy  brought  into  a  bare 
life  all  the  riches  of  the  world.  I  need  him." 

These  two  men  had  both  been  young  when 
first  they  had  met.  Lala  Sheddin  then  had  been 
the  trusted  servant  of  the  late  sovereign.  Man- 
love  Pasha  had  seen  the  star  of  many  a  man 
rise  in  glory  and  set  in  gloom.  Lala  Sheddin 

142 


THE  GRASP   OF    THE   SULTAN 

had  been  the  only  one  on  whose  horizon  there 
had  been  neither  glorious  rising  nor  any  setting. 
The  Englishman  admired  him  for  his  astute- 
ness, for  his  brain,  and  above  all  for  the  way  he 
handled  his  power.  As  the  possessor  of  heart 
and  feeling,  such  as  he  was  exhibiting  at  this 
moment,  he  was  a  man  new  to  the  Englishman. 

"Very  well,  Lala  Sheddin,  let  us  wait  and 
see  what  comes  of  my  experiment.  If  Lionel 
returns  to  England,  of  course  that  ends  the 
matter.  If  he  comes  back  here,  I  promise  not 
to  interfere  again." 

"He  will  come  back,  and  I  will  keep  my  word 
to  you.  If  ever  I  send  you  a  red  handkerchief, 
come  to  the  palace,  for  you  will  be  needed." 
Lala  Sheddin  rose,  and  started  to  leave  the 
room.  At  the  door  he  hesitated;  then  turned: 
"Are  we  quite  safe  from  eavesdropping  in  this 
room?" 

"I  believe  so.  But  if  what  you  have  to  say 
demands  greater  secrecy,  we  can  go  into  my 
own  room."  Manlove  locked  the  door  of  the 
room  they  were  in,  then  conducted  the  eunuch 
to  his  sleeping-chamber.  "We  are  now  quite 
safe,  as  you  see.  These  windows  give  on  the 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

garden.  On  this  side  is  my  dressing-room,  and 
there  is  my  study." 

The  eunuch  went  into  both  rooms  and  in- 
spected them  carefully.  He  came  back  and 
took  his  seat  close  to  the  Englishman. 

"How  did  you  send  Lionel  to  Greece?  In 
your  own  yacht?" 

"Yes." 

The  eunuch  meditated  a  minute.  "It's  not 
very  large,  is  it  —  just  an  ordinary  pleasure 
craft?" 

"Yes;  but  it  can  go  from  here  to  Gibraltar, 
to  the  Azores  —  to  England,  if  necessary." 

"H'm!"  Again  the  eunuch  became  lost  in 
thought  for  a  considerable  time.  He  had  faith 
in  Manlove  Pasha's  character.  During  Sultan 
Medjid's  peaceful  reign  and  the  intriguing  one 
of  his  present  master,  he  had  learned,  of  all  the 
foreigners  in  Constantinople,  to  trust  the  Eng- 
lish most.  He  pondered  long;  then  raised  his 
eyes  and  looked  straight  into  Manlove's. 

"You  must  love  Lionel  Effendi  very  much, 
indeed,  to  make  him  your  heir,  and  then  to 
dare  play  with  his  personal  liberty.  Lionel 
Effendi,  in  spite  of  his  quiet  ways,  does  not 

144 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

strike  me  as  a  man  with  whom  it  is  wise  to  trifle. 
The  roughing  he  did  for  a  few  years  must  have 
added  to  his  capacity  for  taking  care  of  him- 
self." 

Though  Lala  Sheddin  stopped  speaking,  the 
Englishman  said  nothing.  He  waited  for  the 
man  from  the  palace  to  continue.  On  his  side, 
Lala  Sheddin's  eyes  never  left  the  face  of 
Manlove. 

"Supposing,  Manlove  Pasha,  that  an  occa- 
sion should  arise  in  which  Lionel  Effendi  were 
obliged  to  leave  the  palace  hastily;  and  sup- 
posing he  were  to  leave  it,  let  us  say,  with  a 
man  of  my  size.  Would  it  be  possible  for  two 
such  men  to  hide  on  your  yacht,  and  to  pass 
through  the  Dardanelles,  even  if  the  authorities 
were  to  make  a  thorough  search  of  the  vessel?" 

"It  would  not." 

"It  would  not  be  possible  now,  as  the  yacht 
stands;  but  could  it  not  be  made  possible? 
Could  not,  for  example,  a  compartment  be 
built,  with  double  walls,  and  such  a  door  that 
only  the  ones  who  know  of  it  could  find?" 

It  was  Manlove's  turn  to  scrutinize  the  coun- 
tenance of  Lala  Sheddin.  "  Since  you  wish  to 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

utilize  my  yacht,  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
wiser  if  you  took  me  into  your  confidence?" 

"If  the  occasion  should  ever  arise,  I  would 
take  you  into  my  confidence.  But  will  you  not 
have  such  a  compartment  built  —  before  I  take 
you  into  my  confidence?" 

"A  minute  ago  you  told  me  that  Lionel  was 
not  in  danger.  You  even  swore,  I  believe,  that 
there  was  no  intrigue  going  on  —  and  now  you 
intimate  that  both  these  things  exist.  Lala 
Sheddin,  I  have  given  you  my  promise  not  to 
interfere  with  Lionel,  if  he  should  return.  I  gave 
you  that  promise  because  you  deceived  me. 
Now  I  take  it  back.  Something  is  afoot  in  which 
Lionel  is  involved.  I  have  been  here  forty  years. 
It  is  a  country  that  loves  plots,  and  I  have  never 
yet  known  a  plot  —  whether  it  succeeded  or 
not  —  that  was  not  drenched  in  the  best  blood. 
I  shall  not  become  a  party  to  anything  that  I 
do  not  understand;  and  what  is  more  I  mean 
to  interfere  with  Lionel,  even  if  I  go  to  the 
length  of  asking  the  Sultan  to  dismiss  him." 

Lala  Sheddin  smiled.  "You  are  not  a  wise 
man,  my  friend,  to  tell  me  this.  Supposing  I 
were  to  believe  you,  do  you  think  you  would 

146 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  my  master 
again?" 

The  Englishman  winced.  In  the  forty  years 
that  he  had  known  Lala  Sheddin,  this  was  the 
second  time  the  head  eunuch  had  shown  his 
strength.  He  remembered  what  had  happened 
the  first  time.  A  Teuton,  whose  influence  with 
the  Sublime  Porte  had  begun  to  spread  its 
shadow  over  the  rest  of  the  diplomats,  had 
crossed  Lala  Sheddin's  path.  He  left  Constanti- 
nople: his  trunks  followed  later. 

While  Manlove  Pasha  was  thinking  over 
these  things,  the  eunuch  was  watching  him  in- 
tently. 

"Between  us  stands  a  young  man  whom  we 
both  love.  Do  you  think  it  wise  for  us  to  be- 
come enemies  and  to  try  to  crush  each  other? 
No  matter  which  one  of  us  falls,  Lionel  Effendi 
will  be  the  loser.  He  will  have  to  go  on  with  his 
task  without  one  of  us  —  and  he  needs  us  both. 
You  and  I  must  stand  together  for  his  sake. 
Lionel  EfTendi  will  return  to  the  palace  as  soon 
as  he  can  make  his  way  here  from  Athens.  The 
occasion  I  mentioned  may  never  arise.  How- 
ever much  we  scheme,  plan,  and  prepare,  there 

147 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

is  a  hand  which  seems  to  guide  our  destinies, 
and  that  hand  may  move  us  away  from  our 
schemes,  plans,  and  preparations.  Yet  I  believe 
it  wise  to  prepare  according  to  our  present  lights. 
All  I  ask  of  you  now  is  to  build  a  place  in  your 
yacht  where  two  men  could  hide  and  escape  the 
most  rigid  search  the  authorities  might  make. 
Why  can  you  not  do  that?  It  does  not  involve 
you  in  any  danger,  nor  does  it  pledge  you  to 
any  scheme." 

"  Confound  the  man ! "  thought  Manlove.  "  I 
wonder  if  he  is  planning  to  leave  the  palace?" 
Yet  the  thought  comforted  him.  So  long  as 
there  was  no  woman  in  the  plot  it  seemed  safer. 

"How  soon  do  you  think  you  will  need  that 
compartment?" 

"I  may  never  need  it."  The  eunuch  waved 
his  hand.  "That  is  one  of  the  many  things 
which  I  like  to  know  are  ready.  It  is  best  that 
it  should  be  on  your  yacht.  There  are  spies 
everywhere,  and  you  have  a  good  reputation." 

"H'm!  You  do  not  mind  playing  with  my 
reputation.  And  shall  you  expect  me  to  be  on 
the  yacht  when  the  two  men  sail  on  it?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  count  on  that." 
148 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

The  Englishman  grunted.  "And  why  do  you 
think  I  shall  lend  myself  to  your  schemes,  Lala 
Sheddin?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  because  you  pushed  your- 
self into  them  by  abducting  Lionel  Effendi ;  and 
secondly,  because  you  are  an  Englishman.  You 
Englishmen  love  big  risks:  it  goes  with  your 
quiet  natures  and  your  orderly  habits.  You  are 
not  good  talkers,  and  the  pleasure  others  find 
in  talking,  you  take  out  in  doing  things.  I  can 
see  now  by  your  eyes  that  you  are  already  a 
party  to  my  schemes.  You  have  not  pledged 
your  word,  but  your  soul  is  pledged,  and  that  is 
better." 

"Confound  you,  Lala  Sheddin,  that's  all  I 
can  say.  I  shall  be  a  miserable  pariah  if  I  have 
to  be  exiled  from  Turkey.  It's  the  most  inter- 
esting piece  on  the  international  chessboard, 
and  it's  likely  to  become  more  and  more  inter- 
esting. And  here  you  wish  me  to  get  mixed  up 
with  something  that  I  do  not  even  understand, 
and  lose  all  the  excitement,  for  somebody  else's 
gain." 

Lala  Sheddin  nodded.  "Yes;  that's  the  Eng- 
lish of  you.  You  will  do  it  faster  for  somebody 

149 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

else's  gain  than  you  would  for  your  own.  I 
have  not  been  studying  men  for  half  a  century 
to  be  mistaken  now.  I  have  always  liked  you. 
I  have  felt  that  beneath  the  capable  official 
you  were — what  women  would  call  roman- 
tic." The  eunuch  smiled.  "As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  never  knew  an  Englishman  —  a  nice  one,  I 
mean  —  who  was  not  romantic.  The  only  diffi- 
cult thing  is  to  make  you  admit  it.  So  now  you 
will  have  that  compartment  built." 

"That  is,  of  course,  if  Lionel  should  return." 

Lala  Sheddin  rose.  "If  Lionel  Effendi  left 
Greece,  he  would  be  back  here  when?" 

"To-day,  I  suppose." 

"Then  I  shall  find  him  at  the  palace." 


CHAPTER  XII 

KIPRULI  ALI 

As  the  carriage  bore  Lala  Sheddin  back  to  his 
formidable  post,  in  a  world  apart  from  other 
worlds,  it  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  did 
not  take  the  trouble  even  to  glimpse  this  new 
world  into  which  circumstances  had  put  him 
for  an  hour  or  two:  he  was  a  man  of  single 
purpose. 

The  eunuch  had  declared  that  Lionel  would 
return,  and  he  believed  it.  Manlove  Pasha  had 
promised  that  he  would  not  interfere  again,  and 
Lala  Sheddin  trusted  his  word.  Yet  in  spite  of 
his  faith  in  the  two  Englishmen,  he  was  trou- 
bled. He  knew  the  happenings  of  life  to  be 
complex  and  inexplicable:  in  life's  tricks  he  had 
no  faith.  "I  shall  only  feel  at  ease  when  I  see 
my  boy's  face,"  he  murmured.  "My  boy  I" 
He  tasted  the  joy  of  the  words  with  closed  eyes, 
his  hands  clasped  on  his  knees. 

The  broad  shoulders  of  the  young  English- 
man were  what  he  first  saw  when  he  stepped 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

from  his  carriage,  Lionel's  carriage  having  pre- 
ceded his  by  only  a  few  seconds. 

"Oh,  my  boy!"  cried  the  eunuch.  "I  knew 
you  would  come!" 

"I  was  delayed.  I  am  sorry,"  Lionel  an- 
swered. 

Lala  Sheddin  shook  hands  with  him  warmly. 
"I  know  everything.  I  have  just  returned  from 
Manlove  Pasha's.  Go  to  your  pavilion  now, 
and  I  will  join  you  presently." 

A  half-hour  later  they  were  comfortably  set- 
tled in  Lionel's  sitting-room. 

"You  said  that  Manlove  Pasha  had  explained 
the  cause  of  my  absence  to  you?" 

"Quite  satisfactorily.  He  got  frightened, 
and  dared  a  great  deal,  believing  he  was  doing 
you  a  service.  Now,  tell  me  how  you  got  back." 

"There's  not  much  to  tell.  We  went  to  the 
Piraeus,  much  against  my  will  —  and  then  we 
came  back.  Manlove  Pasha  had  entrusted  a 
letter  to  Captain  McVey  for  me.  As  soon  as  I 
read  it,  the  second  day  out,  I  tried  to  make  him 
turn  around  at  once.  He  replied  that  he  had 
orders  to  take  me  to  Greece,  '  so  that  I  should 
have  time  to  think  it  over.'  I  tried  everything 

152 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

on  him,  from  bribery  to  curses.  His  only  answer 
was  that  he  must  obey  orders  —  and  he  did." 

At  this  instant  the  door  was  flung  open  and 
Bayazet  burst  in,  followed  by  his  bodyguard; 
he  threw  himself  into  his  tutor's  arms  and  cov- 
ered him  with  tempestuous  kisses.  Thereafter 
he  drew  away,  and  looked  frowningly  at  the 
Englishman. 

"My  man,  why  did  you  stay  away  so  long?" 

"It  was  unavoidable,  Bayazet." 

"What  did  you  say  —  'un'voi'ble'?" 

"Unavoidable,"  Lionel  repeated. 

"Una — unavoibable  ? " 

"No;  unavoidable." 

"Unavoidable!  I  do  not  like  that  word.  It 
kept  you  away  from  us.  We  were  very  anxious 
up  there,  and  a  word  which  makes  her  anxious 
is  an  ugly  word.  Take  it  out  of  the  language. 
I  command  it." 

"  I  cannot  take  it  out  of  the  language,  Bay- 
azet," Lionel  replied,  smiling,  "but  I  shall  try 
not  to  have  to  use  it  again.  Now,  am  I  for- 
given?" 

"I  shall  forgive  you;  but  you  must  never  stay 
away  again  because  of  'unavoidable.'  Why 

153 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

should  you  go  away  at  all,  my  man?  /  never  go 
away  from  here." 

Lala  Sheddin  laughed  at  the  imperious  airs 
of  the  little  prince.  "Don't  you  think  you  had 
better  go  back,  now?  It  is  getting  dark." 

Bayazet  jumped  down  from  the  lap  of  the 
Englishman  and  menacingly  approached  the 
eunuch. 

"You  go  back,  at  once!"  he  ordered.  "I  de- 
cide to  stay  here  and  eat  with  my  man.  You 
go  back  and  take  my  bodyguard  with  you.  Tell 
the  sultana,  my  mother,  that  I  salute  her,  and  I 
stay  with  my  man  to  eat,  since  the  desire  takes 


me." 


Lala  Sheddin  rose.  "Very  well,  I  go;  but  I 
shall  come  back  for  you  soon  after  the  meal." 

The  boy  stamped  his  foot  and  shook  his  head, 
his  long,  dark  curls  dangling  over  his  shoulders. 
"Are  you  ordering  me  ?  I  shall  go  when  I  choose, 
and  you  go  at  once,  without  more  words." 

Lala  Sheddin  glanced  at  the  tutor,  smiling, 
salaamed  very  low,  and  departed.  When  the 
door  closed  behind  him,  Bayazet  burst  out 
laughing,  and  clapped  his  little  hands  with 
pleasure. 

154 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Did  n't  I  make  him  obey  well?"  He  came 
and  perched  himself  upon  the  Englishman's 
knees,  put  one  arm  around  his  neck,  and  clasped 
a  big  hand  with  one  of  his  small  ones.  "Now 
we  are  alone  together.  I  did  not  know  I  loved 
you  so  much  till  you  did  not  come  back.  The 
days  were  long  and  sad  without  you,  and  be- 
sides, the  sultana,  my  mother,  was  made  un- 
happy. You  must  not  make  her  unhappy  again, 
my  man.  She  was  not  herself  while  you  were 
away,  and  we  both  prayed  to  the  great  Allah 
to  bring  you  back.  I  am  not  going  to  let  you 
go  again  —  and  you  are  not  to  go  unless  I  give 
you  leave." 

Lionel  gave  the  child  a  hug.   He  wanted  to 
ask  him  more  about  his  mother,  but  did  not 
dare.  He  only  said :  "  I  am  unhappy  when  I  am 
away  from  here,  too." 
"Then,  why  did  you  stay  so  long?" 
"I  told  you  before  that  it  was  unavoidable." 
"Write  the  word.    I  shall  show  it  to  my 
mother,  that  she,  too,  may  know  the  reason." 
Lionel  put  down  the  child  and  went  over  to 
his  desk.    On  a  sheet  of  notepaper  he  wrote: 
"My  absence  was  unavoidable.  I  am  sorry  if  it 

155 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

caused  you  pain."  He  was  deeply  moved  at 
the  thought  that  with  her  own  eyes  she  was  to 
read  his  written  words.  He  was  so  moved  that 
he  did  not  stop  to  consider  whether  this  was  a 
wise  thing  to  do. 

Bayazet  took  the  missive  and  read  it  slowly; 
then  folded  it  and  carefully  put  it  into  his  little 
pocket. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  sorry,  and  that  you  say 
it  to  her.  My  man  is  her  man,  too,  if  I  let  him 
—  and  I  am  going  to  let  you."  With  a  quick 
movement  he  sprang  upon  the  tutor's  knees. 
"Now  that  you  are  back,  she,  and  you,  and  I  — 
all  three  are  happy." 

The  Englishman  gave  the  child  another 
squeeze.  "Bayazet,  I  can  never  be  happy  away 
from  here,"  he  said.  In  this  privacy  he  dared 
be  a  little  sentimental. 

There  was  deep  joy  in  the  large  eyes  of  the 
boy.  "I  shall  tell  her  that,"  he  said,  nodding 
his  head.  "  She  often  asks  me  if  you  are  happy 
here,  or  if  you  want  to  go  back  to  your  own 
country." 

"Tell  her  that  I  shall  not  leave  here,  so  long 
as  she  wishes  me  to  stay." 

156 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"My  man,  you  said  those  words  as  if  you 
were  praying  to  Allah." 

"Did  I?"  And  the  Englishman  relaxed. 

They  had  supper  together.  Bayazet,  in  his 
emulation  of  the  simplicity  of  English  life,  ate 
only  bread  and  butter  and  milk.  Lionel  shared 
the  same  fare,  to  the  huge  delight  of  the  boy. 
It  was  a  gay  meal,  for  all  its  meagerness,  and  Lala 
Sheddin  and  the  bodyguard  arrived  all  too  soon. 
Bayazet  frowned  portentously  at  their  arrival. 

"The  sultana,  your  mother,  sends  me,"  said 
Lala  Sheddin  smoothly.  "  She  is  worrying,  and 
you  had  better  go  to  her." 

The  boy  rose  at  once.  He  salaamed  to  his 
tutor,  and  the  two  men  returned  the  salutation. 
The  bodyguard  lifted  the  little  prince  in  his 
arms,  and  by  the  way  the  tall,  stalwart  Albanian 
held  the  child  one  could  see  that  his  little  charge 
was  very  dear  to  him.  After  they  were  gone, 
Lala  Sheddin  came  over  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  Englishman's  shoulder. 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  how  glad  I  am  to 
have  you  back  again."  Without  waiting  for  an 
answer  he  went  on:  "Manlove  Pasha  is  here. 
He  wishes  to  see  you." 

157 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"May  I  see  him?" 

"Yes,  you  had  better." 

The  eunuch  went  away  and  presently  re- 
turned with  Manlove  Pasha.  "You  may  spend 
the  night  here,"  he  said.  "The  man  of  Lionel 
Effendi  will  arrange  a  bed  for  you.  Now  I  will 
bid  you  good-night." 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  the  older  English- 
man came  to  the  point,  without  beating  about 
the  bush. 

"There  is  no  use  my  asking  you  to  excuse  the 
liberty  I  took  with  you,  Lionel.  I  had  to.  I  was 
frightened." 

"There  is  no  need  of  your  saying  anything 
about  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  appreciate  and 
thank  you  for  the  interest  that  you  take  in  me. 
And  I  hope  you  don't  really  mind  my  coming 
back." 

"N — no.  You  know  that  I  have  seen  Lala 
Sheddin.  He  assures  me  that  my  fears  are 
groundless,  and  that  there  is  no  danger  such  as 
I  had  imagined.  Yet  there  is  something  out  of 
the  ordinary  on  his  mind :  he  is  preparing  for  a 
possible  emergency.  Were  you  aware  of  that?" 

"In  a  vague  way." 

158 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"You  have  no  idea  for  what  contingency  he  is 
planning?" 

Lionel  shook  his  head. 

"Yet  when  that  emergency  arises,  he  means 
to  call  on  you." 

"I'm  glad  he  does." 

"Do  you  know  that  there  is  danger  in  his 
plan  —  that  he  expects  the  Porte  to  interfere? 
He  asked  me  to  have  a  secret  compartment 
built  on  my  yacht,  in  which  two  men  could 
elude  the  most  rigid  search  of  the  Government." 

Two  pairs  of  steel-gray  eyes  met.  The  two 
Britons  were  trying  to  fathom  each  other's 
souls.  They  had  the  air  of  a  pair  of  hunters, 
resolute  and  formidable.  They  were  two  good 
specimens  of  Albion's  best  —  that  best  which 
cannot  be  beaten  anywhere  in  the  world. 

"Are  you  going  to  have  that  compartment 
made?"  Lionel  asked* quietly . 

"Y-e-s.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  this: 
Are  you  going  tacitly  to  become  a  part  of  Lala 
Sheddin's  scheme,  without  knowing  anything 
about  it?" 

"What  did  Lala  Sheddin  tell  you  about  it?" 

"Nothing,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  would 
159 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

like  to  know  that  such  a  compartment  existed 
on  my  yacht." 

"Yet  you  are  going  to  have  it  made?" 

"Yes,"  the  older  man  grumbled. 

"  You  lend  yourself  to  Lala  Sheddin's  schemes 
without  knowing  more  than  I  do.  Then  you 
expect  less  of  me  than  you  are  ready  to  give 
yourself?" 

"By  having  such  a  compartment  made  I  am 
not  risking  my  life  —  while  you  may  be  asked 
to  risk  yours." 

"I  don't  mind." 

"But  do  you  expect  your  friends  not  to 
mind?" 

"To  risk  one's  life  is  honorable.  To  risk  one's 
honor  is  dishonorable.  Yet  we  always  make  a 
great  fuss  over  the  first,  while  we  let  those  we 
care  for  go  to  the  gutter  without  raising  a  finger 
to  help  them." 

"You  are  right,  Lionel.  I  ought  to  have  come 
to  you  years  ago,  and  not  have  waited  for  Fate 
to  bring  you  here." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  I  was  not  thinking  of 
you  and  me;  I  was  just  thinking  generally.  I  'm 
exceedingly  happy  here.  In  a  vague  way  I  know 

160 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

that  some  day  my  services  may  be  needed  for 
something  I  do  not  yet  understand,  but  which 
I  feel  it  will  be  worth  risking  my  life  for." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"Because  Lala  Sheddin  is  a  rare  man.  I  can- 
not imagine  his  letting  me  in  for  anything  un- 
worthy. It  makes  me  feel  proud  to  be  trusted 
by  him.  In  a  way  my  self-respect  is  increased 
just  because  he  has  chosen  me  to  help  him." 

"H'm!"  The  monosyllable  ended  the  dis- 
cussion. 

Manlove  Pasha  spent  the  night  at  the  pavil- 
ion, and  he  went  away  the  next  morning  by 
boat,  without  going  up  to  the  palace.  This  the 
eunuch  had  suggested,  and  he  met  Manlove 
on  his  way  to  the  landing.  He  slipped  a  pack- 
age into  the  Englishman's  pocket.  "There  are 
ten  thousand  pounds  in  this  package.  Please 
put  them  in  Lionel  Effendi's  name.  Now  that 
you  are  with  us,  I  can  give  you  directly  any 
sums  that  I  can  spare,  and  you  can  have  them 
placed  in  his  name." 

"You  seem  to  be  paying  my  young  friend  a 
pretty  handsome  salary,"  Manlove  observed. 

The  eunuch  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "There 
161 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

are  many  people  in  the  palace  who  are  getting 
salaries  they  do  not  at  all  deserve.  I  take  a 
little  from  each  of  them  and  give  it  to  Lionel 
Effendi,  who  is  worth  all  and  more  than  he 
gets." 

When  he  disembarked  at  Galata,  the  English 
pasha  made  his  way  toward  the  European  city, 
through  the  Turkish  quarters  so  little  known 
to  casual  tourists.  In  one  of  the  narrow  streets 
he  met  three  carriers,  walking  abreast.  The 
middle  one  had  a  grand  piano  on  the  little  sad- 
dle on  his  back.  The  other  two  were  there  to 
be  ready  in  case  of  emergency,  and  to  see  that 
no  one  jostled  him  and  threw  him  off  his  bal- 
ance. It  was  not  an  unusual  sight,  but  one 
which  always  excited  the  admiration  of  the 
Englishman.  He  looked  at  the  big  bent  man, 
walking  rhythmically  along,  balancing  the 
great  burden  so  beautifully  on  his  tremendous 
shoulders  as  to  render  the  services  of  the  other 
two  unnecessary. 

Directly  in  the  way  of  the  great  carrier  a  spar- 
row was  picking  up  crumbs  in  the  street.  The 
man  made  a  slight  detour  to  avoid  disturbing 
the  sparrow.  The  Englishman  was  so  touched 

162 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

by  the  thoughtful  little  act  that  he  bent  to  see 
the  man's  face.  Half-hidden  though  it  was,  it 
somehow  seemed  familiar,  though  he  could  not 
remember  where  he  had  seen  it  before. 

From  his  bent  position  the  carrier  glanced 
up,  and  then  called  cheerily  from  under  his 
burden:  "Good-morning,  your  excellency.  How 
is  his  young  excellency,  y©ur  friend?  Tell  him 
that  he  took  care  of  my  wound  so  well  that  it 
healed  more  quickly  than  I  ever  knew  a  wound 
to  heal." 

At  the  words  Manlove  Pasha  remembered 
that  this  was  the  carrier  whom  Lionel  had  at- 
tended on  the  first  day  of  his  arrival  in  Turkey. 

"My  young  friend  is  very  well,  and  he  still 
remembers  you,"  the  Englishman  replied.  An 
inspiration  came  to  him.  He  turned,  and 
walked  beside  the  carrier.  "Do  you  know,"  he 
went  on,  "I  never  tasted  such  coffee  as  you 
gave  us  that  day.  You  fellows  have  the  best  of 
everything.  If  you  should  ever  invite  me  to 
partake  of  your  luncheon  again,  you  would 
not  have  to  ask  me  twice." 

"You  are  invited  now,  to-day,  by  me,  Kipruli 
AH,  who  is  pleased  to  call  you  his  friend." 

163 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"I  am  proud  to  be  called  a  friend  by  Kipruli 
AH,  and  I  shall  be  there  at  noon."  He  touched 
his  fez  with  his  fingers,  and  turned  into  a 
side  street,  and  then  up  another,  and  gradu- 
ally mounted  the  hill  leading  to  the  European 
quarters. 

The  midday  hour  found  Manlove  Pasha  at 
the  tiny  coffee-house  where  the  carriers  were 
assembling  for  their  meal.  Kipruli  Ali  received 
his  distinguished  guest  hospitably,  but  not 
vaingloriously.  At  heart  the  Turks  are  the  only 
really  democratic  nation  in  the  world.  They 
value  a  friendship  more  because  of  the  man 
than  because  of  the  position  the  man  occupies. 
That  is  why  one  can  often  see  a  great  pasha 
sitting  with  a  fisherman  and  partaking  of  the 
latter' s  hospitality,  without  condescension  on 
the  pasha's  part,  without  pride  or  humility  on 
the  fisherman's  part. 

The  only  difference  the  carrier  had  made  in 
his  meal  to-day  was  that  he  had  a  big  stool, 
covered  with  a  clean  red  handkerchief,  which 
served  as  a  table.  The  food  was  exactly  what 
he  would  have  eaten  had  he  been  alone.  There 
is  an  innate  nobility  in  the  Turk  which  makes 

164 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

him  simple.  The  admiral  and  the  carrier  ate 
and  conversed  together  as  if  they  had  been  of 
the  same  social  stratum,  and  for  that  reason 
both  had  a  very  good  time.  When  the  meal  was 
over  Manlove  Pasha  presented  the  carrier  with 
a  gaudy  waistcoat,  to  procure  which  had  caused 
him  two  hours'  labor  that  morning;  for  he  had 
had  to  go  to  a  special  shop  in  a  special  quarter 
where  the  carriers  buy  their  clothes. 

Kipruli  Ali  was  ravished  with  the  sight  of  the 
waistcoat.  "Is  this  for  me?"  he  asked. 

Manlove  Pasha  nodded.  "My  young  friend 
sends  it  to  you." 

From  this  they  fell  to  talking  more  about 
Lionel.  "Is  he  quite  well  and  prosperous?"  the 
carrier  asked. 

"Quite  well,  quite  prosperous,  but  a  lover  of 
risks.  Some  day  he  may  need  a  strong  friend." 

Kipruli  Ali's  face  lighted  with  pleasure.  He 
tapped  his  chest  with  his  fist.  "Is  this  strong 
enough?"  he  asked. 

"It  may  be  a  dangerous  risk,"  Manlove 
Pasha  said,  assuming  a  mysterious  air. 

The  carrier  winked.  "A  lady?"  he  inquired. 

"Perhaps." 

165 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

:j-u    ' 

The  carrier  tapped  his  Breast  with  his  fist, 
clapped  his  hands  together,  touched  his  head 
and  his  legs,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
.    "All  his  —  with  eyes  shut,"  he  said. 

Manlove  Pasha  laughed.  "You  are  a  man, 
Kipruli  AH,  and  I  would  rather  trust  you  than 
six  others.  I  shall  tell  my  friend  exactly  what 
you  have  said." 

"Tell  him  that  in  my  heart  and  my  head  I 
am  his,  any  year,  any  day,  any  hour  —  lunch 
time  not  excepted." 

Manlove  Pasha  nodded,  well  pleased.  He  did 
not  know  exactly  how  it  might  be  possible  to 
utilize  the  strong  arms  of  Kipruli  Ali,  but  he 
felt  that  such  an  ally,  sent  by  Providence  itself, 
should  not  be  disdained.  When  he  rose  to  bid 
his  host  good-bye,  he  said  casually:  "Come  and 
break  bread  with  me  some  time." 

The  carrier  was  delighted. 

"  Come  next  week,  a  week  from  Wednesday. 
Meet  me  by  the  Galata  Bridge.  I  will  take  you 
out  to  my  boat,  and  we  can  have  our  food  there." 
,  They  salaamed  and  parted. 

At  the  appointed  place  they  met,  a  week 
later.  Kipruli  Ali,  having  never  before  been  on 

166 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

a  yacht, 'exhibited  a  childlike  delight  in  all  its 
contrivances.  Manlove  took  him  all  over  it, 
enjoying  the  big  man's  pleasure.  They  ate  and 
smoked  by  the  starlight,  unhampered  by  other 
people,  and  while  the  yacht  steamed  up  the 
Bosphorus,  they  talked  of  Lionel  again. 

"Where  is  the  young  effendi  now,"  Kipruli 
Ali  asked,  "and  when  is  he  going  to  be  in  a 
scrape?"  He  winked  at  the  Englishman.  His 
eyes  were  big  and  bright,  and  by  the  starlight 
he  looked  very  strong  and  handsome,  indeed. 
"Scrapes,"  he  said,  inhaling  a  deep  breath,  as 
if  he  could  smell  them,  —  "  scrapes  and  fights 
—  they  are  the  joy  of  life.  And  when  they  are 
about  a  woman  —  well,  they  are  a  joy  in  the 
blossom.  I  should  like  to  be  in  a  fight  by  the 
side  of  the  young  effendi."  He  half-closed  his 
eyes  with  a  mysterious  air.  "The  young  effendi 
is  made  to  turn  the  heads  of  all  women.  I  should 
say  they  would  come  willingly  to  him.  Why 
should  he  need  help?" 

"The  lady  might  be  guarded." 

The  Turk  clapped  his  hands  and  laughed 
gleefully.  "But  I  should  love  to  be  in  a  scrape 
with  the  young  effendi,"  he  repeated. 

167 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Suppose,  then,  that  you  and  I  do  not  lose 
sight  of  each  other;  and  if  we  ever  need  you, 
we  shall  know  where  to  find  you." 

Kipruli  Ali's  shoulders  looked  about  a  yard 
and  a  half  broad,  as  he  squared  them.  "You 
know  where  to  find  me,"  he  said. 

Manlove  Pasha  contemplated  the  sturdy 
form  of  his  guest  with  grim  satisfaction.  "Lala 
Sheddin  is  not  the  only  one,"  he  thought,  "who 
likes  to  know  that  certain  things  are  in  readi- 
ness —  which  may  never  be  used.  If  the  guiding 
hand  beckons  to  me,  it  shall  not  find  me  un- 
prepared." 

A  few  days  later  Manlove  asked  for  a  short 
leave  of  absence,  and  steamed  off  in  his  yacht 
to  Italy.  He  commanded  her  himself,  giving 
McVey  a  vacation.  At  Brindisi  he  gave  all  his 
crew  a  week's  leave  of  absence  on  shore.  Then 
he  went  to  see  a  noted  cabinet-maker  of  the 
town. 

When  the  crew  returned  to  the  yacht  they 
noticed  a  smell  of  fresh  paint;  but  they  ob- 
served no  other  difference  about  her. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
"WHO  AM  i?  OH,  I'M  ONLY — " 

IT  was  Friday,  which  is  the  Turkish  Sunday, 
and  Lionel  was  free  from  school  duties.  He 
awoke  early,  and  wished  he  had  slept  longer. 
Of  late  he  had  come  to  dread  the  weekly  recur- 
rence of  these  days  of  inaction.  On  every  other 
day  he  was  so  busy  that  he  had  no  time  for 
thoughts;  on  Fridays  his  thoughts  sometimes 
could  not  be  controlled. 

It  was  a  warm  spring  day.  A  jasmine  vine 
had  clambered  luxuriantly  over  one  corner  of 
the  railing  of  his  upper  porch,  pushing  aside  a 
pale-pink  climbing  rose.  The  starlike  flowers 
added  their  subtle  perfume  to  the  heavier  one 
of  the  rose.  The  sweet  scents  seemed  to  increase 
the  restlessness  of  the  young  Englishman.  A 
mood  of  discontent  held  him  in  its  grip  this 
morning,  a  discontent  subtle  yet  strong,  like 
the  scent  of  the  jasmine.  He  felt  homesick  — 
yet  he  did  not  wish  to  return  to  England. 
Rather  the  thought  of  doing  that  opened  up 

169 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

a  dreary  vista  before  his  mind's  eye.  He  felt 
lonely,  and  longed  for  something  he  had  not  — 
for  something  that  would  rest  his  body  and 
soul.  Before  his  servant  called  him  to  breakfast 
he  went  out  on  the  porch  outside  his  sleeping- 
room,  which  was  walled  in  on  one  side  by  the 
thick,  interlacing  branches  of  the  mass  of  trees 
between  him  and  the  haremlik  of  the  palace. 
For  one  mad  moment  he  laid  his  hand  on  a 
branch,  and  thought  of  climbing  into  the  trees, 
and  making  his  way  from  one  to  another  until 
he  should  come  to  that  latticed  building  which 
men  dared  not  approach.  Then  he  gave  a  short 
laugh,  as  he  regained  his  sanity.  He  recalled  the 
other  tutor,  who  ventured  twenty-seven  steps 
too  near  the  women's  gardens,  and  whose  career 
had  ended  abruptly,  then.  Lionel  was  as  loath 
as  any  sane  man  to  risk  his  life  for  nothing. 
Definitely  now,  however,  he  knew  for  what  he 
longed. 

The  jasmine  with  her  starry  eyes;  the  rose 
with  the  bloom  of  her  cheeks;  the  vital  spring 
morning  —  all  had  been  trying  to  tell  him.  And 
he  had  not  understood  —  had  not  understood 
that  every  fiber  of  his  being  belonged  to  a  wo- 

170 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

man  beyond  this  mass  of  trees,  a  woman  whom 
he  had  seen  only  once,  and  who  legally  was  the 
wife  of  an  autocrat  whose  whim  was  law.  Sud- 
denly, on  this  spring  morning,  his  love  for  her 
flared  up  from  the  smouldering  brands  which 
long  had  been  growing  in  strength.  He  no 
longer  could  ignore  it;  and  with  it  there  swept 
over  him  a  wave  of  impotence:  he  felt  small, 
helpless  —  less  than  an  insect  or  a  worm;  for 
they  at  least  could  crawl  toward  what  they 
wanted.  With  acute  misery  he  became  aware 
that  he  craved  the  girl  up  there  in  the  palace, 
whom  he  could  neither  see  nor  speak  to.  He 
gripped  the  railing  of  the  balcony.  Does  the 
soul  curse  in  its  agony,  or  does  it  pray;  or  does 
it  curse  and  pray  in  the  same  breath?  Lionel 
did  not  know  which  he  did.  He  was  hungry  and 
thirsty  for  that  woman,  little  more  than  a  child, 
with  the  heart  of  an  eagle  and  the  courage  of 
a  lion.  Standing  rigid,  his  hands  still  gripping 
the  railing  of  the  porch,  his  imagination  lashed 
him  into  daring  deeds.  He  brushed  away  the 
screen  of  tall  trees,  broke  through  the  forbidden 
lattices,  and  entered  her  room.  And  their  eyes 
met  and  spoke,  and  the  red  of  her  lips  was 

171 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

reflected  in  the  dark  of  her  eyes,  and  gave  to  her 
face,  which  he  had  seen  so  pale  and  stern,  color 
and  beauty,  and  to  him  all  the  desires  of  life. 

As  if  the  tempest  in  his  heart  broke  the  spell 
of  the  perfect  day,  a  dark  cloud  in  the  west 
began  climbing  up  the  heavens,  like  a  huge, 
devouring  spider.  The  threatening  heavens 
called  to  Lionel.  Without  waiting  to  eat,  he 
ordered  to  be  saddled  that  one  of  the  horses  at 
his  disposal  of  whose  temper  he  was  least  sure 
—  a  dapple  gray  from  the  desert.  By  the  time 
it  was  brought,  another  bank  of  clouds  from 
the  east  was  mounting  high  into  the  heavens, 
until  there  remained  only  a  narrow  strip  of  blue 
sky  between  the  threatening  masses.  Lionel 
welcomed  the  oncoming  storm.  What  if  the 
clouds  were  to  burst  and  deluge  him?  Revolt 
against  the  restraint  of  his  life  held  him:  he 
craved  the  pelting  rain.  So  he  rode  on  and  on, 
watching  the  clouds  rapidly  becoming  thicker 
and  more  menacing. 

There  came  a  crash,  as  if  one  of  the  battalions 
of  clouds  had  opened  its  artillery  on  the  other; 
and  the  sky  above  became  the  great  Armaged- 
don. The  storm  was  wonderful  in  its  terrifying 

172 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

noise:  terrible  in  its  beauty  of  darkness  and 
light,  and  light  and  darkness. 

The  dapple  gray  had  been  restive  at  the  out- 
set of  the  ride.  He  was  now  galloping  along  like 
a  leaf  before  the  storm,  with  the  terror  which 
forgets  that  line  and  bit  were  meant  to  guide 
and  curb.  His  blood,  refined  by  long  descent, 
was  capable  of  greater  extremes  than  is  the 
blood  of  common  horses.  It  became  untamed 
and  wild  as  the  storm  itself. 

They  reached  the  woods  near  the  end  of  the 
palace  enclosure,  and  through  the  trees  the  sea 
gleamed,  angry  and  wrathful  at  the  disturbance 
above.  A  fiery  bolt  fell  straight  down  from  the 
heavens  into  the  sea,  as  if  to  punish  her  for 
daring  to  be  displeased  at  their  combat.  The 
bolt  fell  where  a  schooner  was  battling  to  gain 
its  port.  Instantly  it  was  a  mass  of  flames,  a 
ghastly  and  wonderful  spectacle  in  the  midst 
of  the  crashing  thunder. 

At  the  terrific  crackling  detonation,  the  gray 
lost  all  semblance  of  sense.  He  veered,  and,  as 
if  he  had  been  blinded  by  the  lightning,  crashed 
through  a  thick  cedar  hedge.  By  a  miracle  he 
passed  through  it  without  losing  his  footing, 

173 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

yet  the  half-yielding  mass  of  thick  branches  had 
stopped  his  impetus;  and  before  he  could  gather 
speed  again,  a  hand  seized  the  bridle,  while  a 
voice,  soft  and  caressing  in  the  midst  of  the 
storm,  spoke  soothingly  to  the  horse.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  mesmeric  in  the  tone 
of  the  voice,  in  the  touch  of  the  hand,  slim  and 
bejeweled,  for  the  gray,  instead  of  plunging  and 
trying  to  break  loose,  stood  still,  shivering,  his 
head  low  and  pressed  against  the  man  who  had 
stopped  him. 

The  Englishman  slid  from  his  saddle.  In- 
deed, now  that  the  exhilaration  of  the  mad  ride 
and  its  dangers  had  somewhat  passed  from  him, 
he  was  glad  to  be  safely  off  the  back  of  his 
dangerous  steed.  It  had  all  happened  so  quickly 
that  only  now  had  Lionel  time  to  take  note  of 
his  rescuer,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  storm.  Under- 
sized, slender  and  graceful,  one  would  have 
thought  him  a  boy,  except  for  his  beard,  and 
his  long  silky  mustaches,  from  which  the  rain 
dripped. 

"I  say,  I  believe  you  saved  my  life,"  Lionel 
said,  speaking  instinctively  in  English. 

"Perhaps;  but  you  see  it  was  not  written 
174 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

that  you  should  die,"  the  other  replied,  with  a 
marked  accent,  but  in  excellent  English.  "So 
here  you  are,  alive  for  the  moment,  though 
drenched  to  the  skin — and  still  being  drenched. 
However,  the  best  part  of  the  storm  is  at  an 
end.  There  will  be  isolated  cannonades,  and  the 
rain  will  continue  to  fall,  but  the  main  battle 
is  over.  It  is  not  worth  while  staying  out  any 
longer." 

"Yes,  I've  had  quite  enough  for  one  morn- 
ing. I  fancy  I  'd  better  lead  my  horse  back.  He 
might  take  it  into  his  head  to  bolt  again." 

"You  are  entirely  too  far  from  your  part  of 
the  palace  grounds  to  think  of  walking  back, 
Mr.  Adams;  and  if  I  know  the  Arab  he  will 
dislike  turning  back.  He  will  go  ahead,  if  you 
choose,  but  he  has  the  blood  which  takes  turn- 
ing back  as  a  defeat.  So  come  with  me.  We  are 
right  at  my  pavilion,  and  I  have  warm  bever- 
ages for  you,  and  a  shelter  for  your  horse." 

"Thank  you.  That  sounds  better  than  walk- 
ing all  the  way  back  through  the  rain." 

They  led  the  still  trembling  horse  between 
them,  while  the  rain,  now  coming  down  more 
straight  and  steady,  had  the  rhythmic  step  of 

175 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

a  marching  army.  The  pavilion  before  them 
was  much  larger  than  the  one  occupied  by  the 
tutor.  At  the  door  the  man  clapped  his  hands, 
and  two  richly  attired  Anatolians  appeared. 
"  See  that  the  horse  is  soothed  and  rubbed  down 
-till  he  is  himself  again,  and  then  put  a  light 
sheet  on  him,"  he  ordered;  then  turned  to  the 
tutor:  — 

"Come,  my  friend,  you  need  treatment  as 
well  as  your  horse.  A  bath  may  seem  superflu- 
ous after  our  drenching;  nevertheless,  it  will 
take  out  any  possible  chill." 

They  went  through  a  richly  furnished  hall, 
up  a  flight  of  stairs,  directly  to  the  bathing- 
house.  Two  other  attendants  appeared,  and  in 
a  minute  they  were  divested  of  their  dripping 
clothes,  and  were  enjoying  the  luxuries  of  a 
Turkish  bath.  After  the  bath,  his  host  offered 
the  Englishman  an  Oriental  bathrobe  so  silky 
and  fluffy  as  to  seem  suitable  only  for  a  coquet- 
tish woman.  The  other  wrapped  himself  in  a 
similar  garment,  and  the  two  men  passed  into 
a  small  room,  so  like  a  woman's  boudoir  that 
the  Englishman  felt  uncomfortable  at  finding 
himself  there. 

176 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"I  am  sorry  my  dressing-gown  is  so  short  for 
you;  but  I  am  afraid,  my  friend,  that  you  are 
over  seven  feet  tall." 

The  Englishman  laughed.  "I'm  barely  six," 
he  replied. 

"That  is  quite  sufficient  to  make  it  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  clothe  you,  since  I  am  barely  five 
feet  two  in  my  shoes." 

After  settling  himself  comfortably  among  the 
innumerable  pillows  on  his  divan,  he  clapped 
his  hands,  and  a  man  answered  the  summons. 

"My  medicines,  please;  and  since  the  gentle- 
man here  is  also  afraid  of  catching  cold,  he  will 
partake  of  the  same." 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

"Make  yourself  comfortable,  Mr.  Adams. 
Put  that  rug  over  you,  where  my  dressing-gown 
lacks  adequate  length." 

The  rug  was  of  double  plush,  unmistakably 
from  London,  and  Liberty's.  He  himself 
wrapped  his  diminutive  person  in  a  rug  of  rich 
golden  brown,  which  matched  the  robe  he  was 
wearing.  The  incongruity  of  his  beard  and  mus- 
tache, with  his  thick  brown  hair,  which  was 
long  enough  to  give  the  illusion  of  a  woman's 

177 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

head,  and  above  all  the  feminine  luxury  of  the 
man's  room  repelled,  and  at  the  same  time 
fascinated,  the  Englishman.  Who  was  the  man  ? 
Undoubtedly  he  was  a  personage.  There  was 
that  about  him  which  bespoke  blood,  refine- 
ment, culture,  and  above  all,  financial  ease. 
And  how  wonderfully  he  spoke  English;  yet  the 
musical  tones  of  his  voice  deprived  the  language 
of  its  virility  —  they  made  it  a  language  for 
women  and  children,  instead  of  what  it  essen- 

.      ,,         .  |  r  Sto-JU**-* -f  •*>  «5Jt*-v-dt*A  <J~*. 

tially  is,  a  language  for  men.^juu-wv^Su 

The  servant  appeared  with  a  tray  on  which 
were  two  black  bottles.  On  the  one  was  written 
"Irish,"  on  the  other  "Scotch."  Beside  them 
stood  a  white  siphon  bottle.  The  servant  placed 
the  tray  on  a  richly  inlaid  table  between  host 
and  guest.  On  another  table  he  put  four 
glasses. 

With  gravity  the  host  inquired:  "Which  one 
will  assist  you  best  not  to  catch  cold?"  He 
spoke  in  Turkish  for  the  benefit  of  the  non- 
drinking  Mohammedan,  who  stood  erect,  his 
arms  crossed  on  his  breast. 

"Scotch,  thank  you." 

"Pipes,"  said  the  host. 
178 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

The  man  prepared  them,  salaamed,  and  went 
from  the  room. 

"I  hear  that  you  are  not  provident  enough 
to  keep  such  preventatives  in  your  pavilion.  If 
you  will  permit  me,  I  will  take  pleasure  in 
stocking  you  up  with  some.  Mine  come  directly 
from  England  —  England,  the  home  of  men." 

Lionel  almost  laughed  to  hear  him  speak  thus 
of  "men,"  while  waving  his  beautiful  hand, 
whereon  flashed  a  fortune  in  diamonds  and 
rubies.  Yet  something  saved  the  man,  in  spite 
of  these  incongruities;  it  was  the  eyes  —  his 
luminous,  intelligent  brown  eyes. 

"You  have  been  to  England?"  Lionel  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  was  educated  in  England,  and  I 
entertain  for  your  country  great  admiration 
and  profound  respect.  And  because  of  that,  I 
like  every  Englishman  —  more  or  less.  You  are 
a  very  good  example  of  what  an  Anglo-Saxon 
ought  to  be.  I  have  liked  you  from  the  first, 
and  have  been  waiting  for  opportunity  to  bring 
us  together.  I  had  to  wait  quite  a  long  time  — 
but — as  part  of  eternity  —  three  years  is  a 
very  short  time." 

"Then  you  have  seen  me  before?" 
179 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Oh,  yes.  Ever  since  you  came  to  the  pal- 
ace. I  like  to  see  you  ride,  and  sometimes  I 
have  walked  near  your  pavilion,  to  hear  you 
sing.  You  are  a  paradox,  Mr.  Adams.  You  are 
every  inch  a  man,  and  yet  you  seem  content  to 
live  here  like  a  French  virgin  in  a  convent." 

Lionel  blushed.  The  remark  was  in  decided 
bad  taste. 

The  other  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 
"I  see  you  blush,  my  friend.  How  British! 
And  how  I  envy  you  —  how  I  wish  I  were  an 
Anglo-Saxon.  And  yet  I  should  miss  being  my- 
self, too,  —  miss  it  terribly."  He  raised  his 
glass,  and  drained  its  contents  with  gusto. 

More  than  ever  Lionel  would  have  liked  to 
know  who  the  man  before  him  was,  but  his 
Britishness  kept  him  from  asking. 

"I  think  your  race  a  marvelous  race,"  the 
host  continued.  "  It  lacks  the  Gallic  spirit,  it  is 
true;  but  it  possesses  fire  underneath  its  calm 
exterior." 

"Every  nation  has  its  good  side,"  Lionel 
replied.  "I  am  learning  that  here." 

"How  much  did  you  know  of  the  East,  Mr. 
Adams,  when  you  came  here?" 

1 80 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

"Nothing  at  all,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I 
know  much  yet." 

"You  ought  to  learn  the  history  of  Constan- 
tinople from  its  very  beginning,  when  it  was  a 
small  colony  of  Constantine  Bysas,  before  the 
Roman  legions  swept"  down  upon  it  and  from 
Greek  Byzantium  turned  it  into  Roman  Con- 
stantinople. Then  follow  it  three  hundred 
years  later,  when  the  spirit  of  Greek  culture 
again  predominated,  and  changed  the  Roman 
Constantinople  back  into  a  Greek  Empire. 
Follow  its  history  from  one  period  to  another, 
until,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  the  mantle  of 
Islam  was  flung  over  it  all." 

As  the  man  talked,  his  spirit  seemed  to  de- 
tach itself  from  its  environment  and  to  live  in 
his  eyes  alone.  There  was  nothing  ridiculous 
about  him  now. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Adams,  there  is  no  history  so  in- 
tensely beautiful  and  so  human  as  the  history 
of  Constantinople.  To  the  average  person, 
Constantinople  is  the  city  of  the  Sultan — • 
picturesque,  unkempt.  To  the  average  diplo- 
mat, it  is  a  place  of  intrigue.  To  the  average 
monarch,  it  is  a  piece  of  booty.  But  to  the  stu- 

181 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

dent  of  civilization  and  history,  Constantinople 
is  an  intellectual  mine.  In  its  glory  as  a  Greek 
Empire,  great  poets,  great  orators,  great  rulers 
succeeded  one  another.  It  was  here,  within  the 
walls  of  St.  Sophia,  that  John  Chrysostom  made 
his  famous  speech  on  Vanity,  while  Ypatos 
Eutropius,  in  his  night-clothes  only,  crouched 
beneath  the  holy  altar,  trembling  before  the 
infuriated  mob,  which,  like  an  unchained  beast, 
with  snarling  teeth  and  nostrils  snuffing  blood, 
sat  waiting  for  Eutropius.  You  can  hear  John 
Chrysostom  addressing  the  loathsome  brutes 
before  him:  'Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity.' 
He  points  out  to  them  the  once  powerful  man, 
now  barely  covered  with  his  night-clothes,  and 
continues:  'Where  now  is  the  splendor  of  this 
trembling  man?  Where  are  his  fine  clothes? 
Where  the  power  he  had?  All  are  gone!  Noth- 
ing is  left  but  a  weak  and  defenseless  fugitive, 
clinging  to  the  holy  altar.'  And  as  he  talked 
with  his  'honeyed  tongue'  the  infuriated  mob 
gradually  became  human,  and  one  by  one  they 
left  St.  Sophia,  no  longer  bent  on  killing  the 
man  who  had  oppressed  their  souls.  Ah,  Mr. 
Adams,  a  country  with  such  spiritual  power 

182 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

cannot  go  under.  The  Asiatic  hordes  can  con- 
quer such  a  city.  They  can  turn  St.  Sophia  into 
a  Turkish  mosque.  They  can  coat  with  white- 
wash the  pictures  of  the  Christian  saints;  and 
they  can  build  minarets  on  her  old  churches, 
from  which  the  muezzin  call  the  followers 
of  Islam  to  prayer.  They  can  surround  Con- 
stantinople with  the  pomp  of  the  Califs,  and 
make  of  it  the  capital  of  Turkey;  but  make  it 
Turkish  —  never!  Conquered,  humiliated,  out- 
raged, sacked  and  burned,  Constantinople  still 
breathes  Greek  life;  for  those  who  spoke  the 
language  of  Chrysostom,  those  who  discovered 
in  their  souls  the  secret  of  immortality,  are  its 
rightful  possessors.  They  are  the  watchers  be- 
side the  bleeding  soul  of  Greek  civilization.  The 
world  thought  that  the  Greek  soul  had  died 
with  Constantine  Paleologos;  but  those  who  are 
watching  beside  it  know  that  it  can  never  die. 
The  Turks  have  lived  here  for  five  hundred 
years,  but  they  have  only  been  camping  —  they 
have  neve*r  been  able  to  take  root;  and  being 
unable  to  take  root  they  have  lost  the  superb 
qualities  which  made  the  Turkish  race  what  it 
was  in  Asia." 

183 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

He  leaned  over  and  tapped  the  Englishman's 
arm.  "That  is  what  ails  the  Turkish  nation  to- 
day. They  feel  themselves  aliens  and  outsiders 
in  the  capital  of  their  own  empire.  Their  salva- 
tion lies  in  the  East:  they  must  go  back  to  Asia, 
and  start  over  again  to  become  strong  as  they 
once  have  been.  There  is  much  that  is  good 
and  great  in  their  nation;  but  the  Asiatic  seed 
will  not  grow  in  Greek  soil.  Come  with  me  some 
night,  Mr.  Adams,  out  on  the  ramparts  of  old 
Byzantium.  There  in  the  silence  of  the  night 
you  will  hear  the  moaning  of  the  Greek  soul. 
You  will  hear  her  calling  to  her  children  to  rise 
and  free  her  from  the  bondage  she  has  been 
under  for  five  hundred  years."  ~ 

He  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  "I  talk  non- 
sense, Mr.  Adams,  but  to  know  Constantinople 
you  must  breathe  her  aroma,  you  must  see  be- 
neath her  veil.  And  I  will  give  you  other  illus- 
trations of  the  truth  of  what  I  say  about  the 
futility  of  trying  to  transmute  one  nation  into 
another.  Has  Austria  ever  been  able  to  make 
Italy  Austrian  —  or  any  of  the  other  alien  races 
she  governs?  Has  Poland  —  whether  she  be 
German  or  Russian  —  ever  forgotten  that  she 

184 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

is  Polish?  Has  Alsace  forgotten  that  she  is 
French;  or  has  great  England  managed  to  make 
the  nations,  which  form  the  vital  organs  of  her 
body,  -English?  I  have  traveled  extensively 
through  Great  Britain,  and  I  have  found  Ire- 
land to  be  Irish,  Scotland,  Scotch,  and  Wales, 
Welsh,  although  they  are  a  part  of  the  most 
civilized  country  of  the  white  race.  If  England 
fails,  how  can  any  other  country  succeed?  No; 
the  national  ideals,  such  as  they  may  be,  need 
their  own  soil."  H 

-**•»*•  *  cw-^c-^Jr  tL'+JLr*-***™**-^*"™  -*"t<-Vv<4fc^  I, 

More  intently  than  ever  he  continued :  "  Con- 
stantinople is  the  point  where  ethical  civiliza- 
tion received  its  first  great  check.  A  great  soul 
is  kept  here  bleeding;  and  until  the  world  breaks 
these  chains  and  gives  to  each  soul,  great  and 
small,  the  freedom  to  live  its  own  national  life, 
we  shall  continue  to  be  a  world  of  hatreds,  ene- 
mies, intrigues,  and  wars.  —  Have  I  talked  too 
much,  Mr.  Adams?  You  see,  I  had  to  try  to 
entertain  you  while  your  clothes  were  being 
dried,  and  the  only  tale  I  know  well  is  the  one 
I  have  just  told  you." 

He  laughed,  becoming  again  the  complexity 
he  had  been.  "I  like  England,"  he  went  on, 

185 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"and,  as  I  said  before,  I  like  the  English.  I 
should  like  to  be  your  friend,  and  help  you  to 
understand  things." 

He  extended  his  hand  toward  a  panel,  on 
which  was  painted  a  gay  little  Watteau  shep- 
herdess. He  pressed  an  invisible  spring,  and 
the  panel  flew  open,  disclosing  several  shelves 
filled  with  books. 

"These  are  what  no  man  may  own,  openly, 
in  Turkey.  In  them  is  the  spirit  of  Greece  — 
of  civilization.  If  you  care  to  know  them,  come 
and  spend  some  hours  with  me,  and  I  will  take 
you  step  by  step  into  their  contents.  When  you 
know  their  secrets,  you  will  know  immortal 
things." 

He  pressed  another  spring,  and  the  panel 
shut,  and  all  that  remained  of  the  books  was 
the  gay  little  shepherdess  of  the  Watteau  panel. 

Unable  to  keep  the  question  back  any  longer, 
the  Englishman  exclaimed:  "Who  are  you?" 

"Who  am  I?  Oh,  I'm  only  the  imperial 
cook." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  NIGHT  ON  THE   RAMPARTS 

Thank  you. 

Kizatesh. 

In  these  three  words  the  mother  of  Bayazet 
replied  to  the  note  Lionel  had  written  her.  The 
English  came  to  him  with  a  thrill,  though  he 
had  known  that  she  was  learning  it  from  her 
son. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  irregular  cor- 
respondence, which  meant  more  in  the  tutor's 
life  than  any  other  single  factor.  What  if  it 
concerned  itself  mainly  with  the  education  of  a 
small  boy?  Through  it,  he  and  she  learned  to 
know  each  other,  almost  as  if  they  had  been 
able  to  meet  and  talk  together.  Their  letters 
were  short.  Now  and  then  a  word,  a  phrase,  gave 
Lionel  a  glimpse  of  Kizatesh's  inner  self  —  of 
her  exquisite  personality.  In  one  of  her  letters, 
she  begged  Lionel  to  get  her  some  books  of  the 
history  of  the  world,  that  she  might  not  be  so 

187 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

ignorant,  and  might  second  him  in  the  instruc- 
tion of  her  boy.  Thus,  for  her  sake,  he  became 
a  reader  and  student  of  books,  which  he  pro- 
cured through  the  help  of  Anton  Effendi,  the 
imperial  cook,  and  which  then  reached  Kizatesh 
Sultana  through  Lala  Sheddin.  The  eunuch 
made  no  objection  to  this  unlawful  knowledge 
filtering  into  the  palace.  In  this  process  of 
education,  the  one-time  diplomat  and  states- 
man, and  present  imperial  cook,  played  no  small 
part,  and  Lionel  became  his  pupil,  even  as  he 
himself  was  the  teacher  of  Bayazet  and  of 
Bayazet's  mother.  The  peculiarities  of  Anton 
Effendi  no  longer  bothered  him.  His  effeminate 
ways,  his  occasional  lapses  from  good  taste, 
receded,  and  Lionel  saw  only  the  man's  great 
intellect  and  superb  scholarship. 

With  these  interests,  and  with  the  friendship 
of  Manlove  Pasha  and  of  Lala  Sheddin,  the 
years  slipped  by  with  a  contentment  that  was 
almost  happiness. 

After  Lionel  came  to  know  Anton  Effendi 
well,  he  found  out  that  the  burning  dream  of 
the  man  was  his  patriotism  for  Greece.  One 
evening  Lionel  was  calling  on  Anton  Effendi, 

188 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

when  the  talk  touched  on  Athens.  At  the 
word  the  cook's  face  seemed  to  become  all  eyes, 
as  it  did  whenever  he  was  absorbingly  inter- 
ested in  anything.  "I  do  not  like  Athens,"  he 
said  with  a  shiver.  "  I  am  always  unhappy  there 

—  I  have  the  feeling  that  I  am  walking  on  a 
corpse.   Even  the  Acropolis  seems  to  me  dead 

—  without  life  and  spirit.    For  a  long  time  I 
could  not  discover  the  cause.   I  know  it  now. 
I  found  it  out  while  walking  on  the  ramparts  of 
old  Byzantium.   Athens  is  without  soul.   It  is 
Greece  in  body,  in  form;  but  the  soul  is  here. 
When  that  is  set  free,  the  Acropolis  will  come 
to  life  —  not  before."  He  sprang  from  his  seat. 
"Mr.  Adams,  come  with  me  —  to-night  —  out 
on  the  ramparts  of  old  Byzantium.  Then  you 
will  understand." 

"I  should  like  to;  but  I  have  not  asked  per- 
mission. There  would  be  trouble  to  get  out 

—  and  we  might  not  be  able  to  get  back  at 
all." 

"Come!"  repeated  Anton  Effendi.  "There 
will  be  no  trouble.  I  must  show  it  to  you." 

Lionel  followed  him,  resolved,  if  the  gate- 
keeper made  any  objection,  to  return  to  his  own 

189 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

quarters.  But  Anton  Effendi  did  not  go  toward 
the  gates :  he  went  in  the  opposite  direction.  It 
was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night.  They  walked 
toward  the  wooded  end  of  the  palace  enclosure, 
till  they  reached  a  mass  of  laurel  bushes  grow- 
ing thick  along  the  wall.  Stopping  for  an  in- 
stant, and  looking  about  him,  to  make  sure  no 
one  was  observing  him,  the  Greek  plunged  in 
among  the  laurels,  crouching  down,  so  that  he 
was  entirely  lost  to  view. 

With  difficulty  the  tall  Englishman  followed 
his  example,  and  they  squirmed  their  way  to- 
ward the  wall.  On  reaching  that  they  turned 
to  the  left  for  about  twenty  yards,  till  they  came 
to  a  small  door  in  the  wall,  hardly  four  feet 
high.  In  the  uncertain  light  which  filtered 
through  the  laurels  it  looked  very  old  and  quite 
disused;  but  Lionel  noticed  that  when  the 
Greek  inserted  a  key  in  the  lock  it  turned 
smoothly  as  if  well  oiled. 

Anton  Effendi  pushed  open  the  door  a  foot, 
against  something  on  the  other  side  which  re- 
sisted his  push,  and  the  two  men  squeezed 
through.  On  the  other  side  a  luxuriant  growth 
of  ivy  covered  both  the  door  and  the  wall,  and 

190 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

when  the  former  was  in  place  again,  it  became 
entirely  lost  under  its  dense  covering  of  vine. 

"How  ever  did  you  manage  to  find  this  way 
of  leaving  the  palace?"  Lionel  asked,  straight- 
ening up  his  tall  figure  with  relief. 

"In  an  old  rabbit  warren  like  the  palace, 
there  are  always  secret  ways  of  getting  about. 
I  spent  three  weeks  —  after  I  took  up  my  per- 
manent residence  here  —  in  examining  the 
walls  of  the  palace  before  I  came  upon  this. 
Apparently  it  had  n't  been  used  for  years,  and 
I  spent  another  week  pouring  oil  into  the  lock. 
And  then  — "  He  stopped  and  laughed.  "I  am 
about  to  commit  an  indiscretion,  and  all  be- 
cause you  have  inspired  in  me  a  confidence 
which,  alas!  I  fear  none  of  my  own  country- 
men could  have  inspired.  I  am  going  to  confess 
to  you  one  of  my  accomplishments  that  no 
other  living  person  knows  about.  I  am  a  lock- 
smith. I  have  a  small,  secret  room  fitted  up 
with  an  interesting  collection  of  tools.  No  one 
goes  there.  I  believe  they  think  I  am  something 
of  an  alchemist  —  and  it.  does  not  hurt  my 
reputation  to  have  them  think  so.  There  I 
spend  many  pleasant  hours,  when  tired  of 

191 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

books,  in  studying  and  dissecting  all  kinds  of 
locks." 

"But  why  should  you  make  a  secret  of  it?" 
Lionel  asked. 

"Locks  play  a  more  vital  part  in  the  life  of 
the  East  than  they  do  in  that  of  the  West.  You 
only  lock  up  your  gold:  we  lock  up  our  women. 
Thus,  locksmithing  is  lifted  out  of  the  prosaic 
realm  of  Business  into  the  glory  of  Romance. 
The  lock  is  the  endeavor  of  man  to  keep,  with- 
out striving,  what  he  only  won  by  strife.  And 
the  futility  of  it  —  the  weakness  of  that  whole 
spirit  which  seeks  merely  to  conserve  —  is  ex- 
emplified by  the  fact  that,  with  a  bit  of  wax 
and  a  day's  time,  there  is  not  a  lock  in  the 
^  Sultan's  palace  to  which  I  cannot  fit  a  key." 

"No  wonder  you  don't  want  your  accom- 
plishment known,"  Lionel  said. 

Anton  Effendi  chuckled.  "I  tumbled  into 
enough  trouble  through  my  talent  for  cooking. 
If  my  taste  for  locksmithing  were  discovered, 
it  might  conduce  to*  my  own  considerable  in- 
convenience. They  are  a  suspicious  lot,  these 
Orientals.  I  doubt  if  they  could  comprehend 
an  abstract  interest  in  the  subject." 

192 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

"How  did  you  happen  to  take  up  this  fad?" 

"Praise  be  to  Allah  that  I  did.  But  for  it, 
my  movements  would  often  be  more  circum- 
scribed than  I  should  like  —  as  to-night,  for 
example.  There  is  a  boat-landing  not  far  from 
here  where  we  can  get  a  caique." 

After  a  half-mile  walk  they  reached  the  land- 
ing, where  a  row  of  boats  rested  on  the  water, 
fastened  by  short  ropes  to  iron  rings  in  the 
landing.  The  Greek  pulled  in  the  first  boat  by 
the  rope,  peered  into  its  depths;  then  stepped 
into  it  and  shook  the  sleeping  forms  of  the 
cai'quetchis  in  the  bottom.  "Wake,  my  friends, 
and  take  us  to  the  Golden  Horn." 

The  men  picked  up  their  oars  with  alacrity, 
and  Anton  Effendi  and  the  Englishman  settled 
themselves  comfortably  in  the  stern.  They  dis- 
embarked at  one  of  the  villages.  All  the  world 
seemed  plunged  in  a  great  silence,  and  only 
once  did  they  meet  the  night  watchman,  with 
his  lantern  and  his  heavy  stick,  patrolling  the 
unlighted  streets.  Beyond  the  village  they 
climbed  the  hill,  the  houses  below  them  looking 
like  dark,  recumbent  forms  on  the  edge  of  the 
water. 

193 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

They  reached  the  ramparts :  those  Byzantine 
walls,  once  the  pride  of  its  emperors,  now  use- 
less and  scorned;  in  places  intact,  but  oftener 
half-demolished,  or  merely  a  heap  of  stones, 
like  discouraged  sentinels  of  a  past  civilization, 
standing  above  the  sea.  The  Greek,  with  head 
bent,  walked  on  without  a  word,  seeming  to 
forget  that  he  had  brought  a  guest  with  him. 
They  came  upon  a  solitary  figure,  sitting  on  the 
stump  of  a  demolished  column.  He  touched 
his  forehead  with  his  forefinger.  "Ya  tin  eleph- 
theria,"  he  said. 

"Ya  tin  elephtheria,"  replied  the  Sultan's 
cook,  and  touched  his  own  forehead  with  his 
forefinger.  Twice  again,  during  the  night  they 
encountered  men,  who  saluted  each  other  with 
the  same  words  and  the  same  gesture.  Lionel 
asked  no  questions,  respecting  the  taciturnity 
of  his  usually  vokible  host.  Finally  they  stopped 
beside  a  huge  crumbling  gateway. 

"This  is  the  gate  through  which  the  Asiatic 
hordes  entered  the  city,"  said  Anton  Effendi 
somberly.  "I  never  walk  by  these  walls  but  I 
live  over  again  the  last  tremendous  fight  which 
Christianity  made  against  Islam.  'Christian- 

194 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

ity,'  did  I  say?  I  was  wrong,  because  the 
Greeks  were  refused  help  by  the  then  powerful 
Church  of  Rome,  unless  they  would  abandon 
the  Orthodox  faith,  and  become  Roman  Catho- 
lics." After  a  long  pause  he  went  on:  "I  come 
here,  whenever  I  can,  on  nights  when  the  moon 
is  full.  I  come,  in  order  that  it"  —  he  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  dark  city  —  "may  know 
that  it  does  not  suffer  alone." 

They  walked  still  farther  along  the  ramparts, 
and  in  this  fantastic  night,  it  seemed  to  Lionel 
as  if  he  could  in  very  truth  hear  the  moaning  of 
the  enchained  Greek  soul,  in  the  old  city  below. 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  Anton  Effendi  went 
on,  with  a  touch  of  sadness  in  his  voice.  "You 
will  find  many  Greeks  of  wealth  all  over  the 
world  who  will  not  marry,  so  long  as  Constanti- 
nople is  enslaved.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing,  be- 
cause we  Greeks  love  to  be  fathers,  to  have 
sons,  many  of  them,  and  to  see  them  grow  up 
with  our  traditions.  But  we,  who  belong  to  the 
Brotherhood  of  Ships,  must  have  no  descend- 
ants to  claim  our  wealth  when  we  die.  All  our 
money  must  go  to  the  buying  of  dreadnoughts 
—  to  the  building  up  of  a  great  Greek  navy, 

195 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

>» 

which  some  day  may  reconquer  Constanti- 
nople, may  free  the  Greek  soul,  and  permit  the 
priests  to  enter  St.  Sophia,  again." 

It  was  a  wonderful  experience  for  the  Eng- 
lishman, this  night  spent  on  the  ramparts  of 
old  Byzantium.  The  two  returned  to  the  pal- 
ace just  before  dawn,  entering  the  same  way 
that  they  had  gone  out.  It  did  not  seem  worth 
while  to  Lionel  to  go  to  bed  at  all.  Later  in  the 
morning,  —  and  for  many  days  afterwards,  — 
when  he  was  teaching  the  Ottoman  princes  as 
usual,  he  would  stop  to  wonder  whether  he  and 
Anton  Effendi  had,  indeed,  been  out  of  the  pal- 
ace on  that  night,  or  whether  he  had  dreamed 
it  all,  so  remote,  so  unreal  did  it  seem. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MOTHER  AND   SON 

LALA  SHEDDIN  approved  of  the  friendship  of 
Lionel  and  Anton  Effendi.  "Of  course  I  only 
trust  Anton  Effendi  up  to  a  certain  extent," 
he  remarked  one  day.  "No  Mussulman  ever 
trusts  a  Greek  implicitly  —  perhaps  because 
he  has  the  feeling  that  he  is  sitting  in  the 
Greek's  home." 

This  admission  surprised  Lionel.  "Do  you 
think  that  the  Greeks  hope  some  day  to  recon- 
quer Constantinople?"  he  inquired  casually. 

"They  don't  'hope,'  they  expect  to,"  Lala 
Sheddin  replied.  "A  great  deal  of  the  money 
they  earn  here  as  government  officials  they 
send  to  Greece,  for  her  army  and  navy.  They 
have  a  grim  humor,  these  Greeks,  and  they  are 
a  heartless  race."  Lala  Sheddin  tapped  his  fore- 
head: "They  do  everything  from  here  —  not 
from  the  heart." 

Lionel  was  learning  the  East  from  all  sides, 
Manlove  Pasha's,  no  less  than  Lala  Sheddin's. 

197 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

Manlove  had  the  heartiest  contempt  for  the 
Greeks.  "They  are  all  soulless  rascals,"  he  said 
one  day  with  great  earnestness.  "They  worship 
money  for  money's  sake.  Look  at  Anton 
Effendi!  He  is  actually  content  to  be  a  cook, 
because  he  gets  more  pay  than  he  did  as  an 
exalted  government  official.  What  he  does  with 
his  money  I  can't  imagine.  I  tried  to  get  some 
out  of  him  once  for  charity,  and  he  would  n't 
give  me  a  copper.  Said  he  did  n't  believe  in 
charity.  The  only  good  thing  about  the  Greeks 
is  that,  like  the  Jews,  they  take  care  of  their  own 
people.  And  there  is  n't  a  village  throughout 
Turkey  with  a  hundred  Greeks  in  it  but  a 
church  goes  up  and  a  fine  school  —  and  from 
somewhere  the  money  is  forthcoming.  Just  the 
same,  they  are  a  detestably  cunning  race.  They 
keep  things  boiling  here." 

Lionel  never  came  to  Manlove  Pasha's  opin- 
ion about  the  Greeks.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
he  had  plumbed  the  depths  of  Anton  Effendi's 
character;  or  it  may  have  been  because  the 
mother  of  Bayazet  was  of  pure  Greek  descent, 
and  the  race  which  could  produce  her  could  not 
be  hateful  to  him. 

198 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Bayazet  was  in  his  ninth  year  when  his 
mother  sent  Lionel  a  letter  begging  him  to  try 
to  save  her  son  from  a  premature  marriage. 
"Soon  I  may  no  longer  see  him  often,"  she 
wrote,  "and  my  words  may  grow  dim  in  his 
mind.  He  is  so  tall  and  strong  that  they  will 
try  to  give  him  a  wife  even  earlier  than  his 
brothers.  As  he  already  has  pride  in  his  blood 
and  race,  can  you  not  give  him  equal  pride  in 
his  strength  and  manhood  ?  Then  he  may  him- 
self refuse  to  accept  a  wife." 

Lionel's  attention  was  caught  by  a  rustle  of 
leaves  in  the  trees  near  his  balcony,  where  he 
was  sitting.  Thrusting  the  letter  into  his  pocket, 
he  looked  up  and  saw  Prince  Murad  among  the 
leaves.  He  was  flattened  along  a  limb,  his  head 
thrust  forward,  his  nostrils  distended,  and  he 
snuffed  like  an  animal  at  fault  in  following  a 
scent.  In  an  instant,  seeming  to  catch  the  scent 
again,  he  crept  out  to  the  end  of  the  limb,  swung 
himself  to  another,  and  followed  that  to  the 
trunk  of  the  next  tree. 

The  Englishman  watched  him  in  horrified 
fascination  until  he  disappeared  from  sight. 
Prince  Murad  had  finished  his  education  three 

199 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

years  before,  and  Lionel  had  seen  little  of  him 
since.  Yet  stories  of  his  perverted  degeneracy 
had  frequently  come  to  his  ears.  It  was  said 
that  he  had  small  wild  animals  trapped  for  him; 
then  released  them  within  the  palace  enclosure 
and  hunted  them  down,  killing  them  with  his 
teeth  and  nails.  He  had  also  a  demoniac  fond- 
ness for  perfumes,  and  had  been  known  to  fol- 
low the  trail  of  some  woman  for  a  mile  through 
the  palace  enclosure.  His  sense  of  smell  was 
said  to  be  keener  than  that  of  a  hound. 

To-day  was  not  the  first  time  that  Lionel  had 
actually  been  a  witness  of  Murad's  hunting. 
Once  he  had  seen  him  catch  a  squirrel,  tear 
its  throat  with  his  teeth,  and  drink  its  blood. 
The  remembrance  of  the  hideous  sight  had 
haunted  Lionel  for  days.  With  Kizatesh  Sul- 
tana's letter  in  his  pocket,  he  shuddered  at  the 
possibility  of  Bayazet's  ever  sinking  to  such  a 
state. 

There  came  a  crash  through  the  branches 
and  a  scream,  and  then  the  thud  of  a  heavy 
body  falling  on  the  ground.  Lionel  rushed  down- 
stairs and  out  in  the  direction  of  the  noise.  He 
found  Prince  Murad  lying  unconscious,  one 

200 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

hand  still  clutching  a  young  lynx,  which  was 
scratching  and  biting  at  his  face.  Almost  as 
quickly  as  the  Englishman  there  arrived 
Murad's  bodyguard,  and  by  the  time  they  had 
dispatched  the  young  lynx  and  obtained  some 
water  to  bathe  the  face  of  the  unconscious  man, 
Lala  Sheddin  appeared.  He  did  not  seem  sur- 
prised at  the  scene.  Sadly  he  gazed  upon  the 
face  of  the  reviving  youth;  then  said  in  English 
to  Lionel :  — 

"  It  would  have  been  better  had  he  died.  His 
wives  would  have  been  happier.  It  is  their  blood 
he  will  be  drinking  next."  He  stroked  his  chin, 
and  then  went  on  slowly:  "They  take  away 
from  us  the  gift  of  life,  and  they  themselves 
beget  such  as  this.  Ah,  Lionel  Eifendi,  if  you 
were  to  go  with  me  from  palace  to  palace,  in 
this  enclosure,  you  would  see  to  what  extent 
the  soul  can  be  outraged  by  pampered  and  in- 
dulged bodies.  I  have  grown  old  in  the  service 
of  the  Califs,  but  I  believe  that  which  has  made 
my  hair  gray  is  not  years,  but  the  ugliness  of 
life." 

A  litter  was  sent  for,  and  Murad  was  carried 
to  his  home.  Rather  to  Lionel's  astonishment, 

20 1 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

none  of  his  brothers  ever  made  any  reference 
to  their  brother's  accident.  Only  Lala  Sheddin 
referred  to  it  a  few  nights  later. 

"When  they  don't  get  altogether  stupefied, 
they  are  likely  to  develop  all  sorts  of  manias. 
What  can  you  expect?  Before  they  are  half- 
developed  they  are  treated  as  men,  and  given 
their  own  harems.  That  is  what  she  is  afraid 
of.  She  fears  that  when  they  take  away  her 
child,  they  will  marry  him  immediately;  and, 
of  course,  in  a  few  years  he  will  be  strengthless 
and  spiritless,  like  the  rest  of  them." 

These  talks  with  Lala  Sheddin,  and  the  inci- 
dent that  led  up  to  them,  afforded  the  tutor 
startling  proof  of  the  very  real  danger  against 
which  Kizatesh  Sultana  had  warned  Lionel, 
and  he  resolved  to  exert  to  the  utmost  his  influ- 
ence with  the  boy  to  avert  it.  The  next  day  he 
guardedly  hinted  at  the  unhappy  condition  of 
his  brother  Murad,  and  at  its  cause.  He  began 
to  work  on  the  boy's  pride  as  an  Osmanli  prince, 
and  then  passed  on  to  the  greater  pride  which 
each  man  should  entertain  for  his  manhood  and 
his  physical  fitness. 

Bayazet  listened  with  the  attention  he  always 
202 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

accorded  the  words  of  his  tutor;  but  it  staggered 
the  Englishman  when  the  boy  replied :  — 

"A  boy  becomes  a  man  when  he  is  the  lord  of 
a  woman.  I  am  stronger  and  taller  than  many 
of  my  older  brothers,  and  my  bodyguard  has 
told  me  several  times  that  there  are  already 
many  women  in  the  palace  who  wish  to  claim 
me  for  their  lord." 

The  proud  attitude  of  the  boy  as  he  spoke 
was  added  proof  how  right  the  mother  had 
been  to  fear  for  her  son.  Lionel  considered  the 
youngster  a  minute;  then  he  asked  gravely:  — 

"Have  you  ever  told  your  mother  what  your 
bodyguard  told  you  ? " 

Bayazet  drew  himself  up.  "A  man  does  not 
talk  with  a  woman  of  what  he  talks  with  an- 
other man."  ^ 

Looking  earnestly  into  the  boy's  eyes,  Lionel 
said:  "Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  tell  her,  this 
evening,  what  we  have  talked  of,  and  what  your 
bodyguard  told  you?  You  will  find  that,  al- 
though she  is  a  woman,  because  she  is  your 
mother,  she  can  enlighten  and  help  you  more 
than  any  other  human  being." 

The  boy  was  impressed  by  his  tutor's  serious 
203 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

manner,    and,    after   an   instant's   hesitation, 
promised. 

Lionel  looked  after  Bayazet,  when  the  latter 
left  him  at  the  close  of  school  hours,  with  newly 
appraising  eyes.  The  arrogant  pride  of  the 
Osmanli,  together  with  that  inherited  from  his 
Cretan  blood,  made  the  boy  stand  straight  and 
hold  his  head  erect,  while  the  exercises  Lionel 
had  given  him  had  made  his  shoulders  flat  and 
broad.  He  stood  a  head  taller  than  his  brothers 
of  the  same  age,  who  by  this  time  had  come 
under  the  Englishman's  care.  Lionel  had  been 
very  proud  of  Bayazet's  physical  development 
and  manly  appearance.  Now  he  became  afraid 
of  both. 

The  early  slates  had  been  replaced  by  copy- 
books, for  the  last  two  years,  and  these  Bayazet 
still  carried  to  his  mother  every  night.  That 
evening,  after  she  had  gone  over  his  lessons 
with  him,  as  usual,  she  asked :  — 

"My  lion,  what  did  your  man  talk  with  you 
about  to-day?" 

The  boy  tossed  up  his  head  and  surveyed  his 
mother.  No  one  had  ever  told  him  directly  that 
one  sex  was  superior  to  the  other,  yet  instinc- 

204 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

tively  he  had  the  Oriental  attitude  toward  the 
woman.  She  was  made  to  be  the  flower  in  a 
man's  garden;  she  was  made  to  be  adored:  but 
never  for  a  moment  did  he  consider  her  the 
equal  of  a  man  —  man,  the  lord  of  creation! 
It  hurt  him  now  to  have  to  talk  with  his  mother 
on  a  subject  which  he  felt  he  should  discuss  with 
men  alone.  And  though  his  man  had  told  him 
to,  he  still  hesitated,  and  caressed  his  mother 
instead  of  answering  her.  Gradually  and  quite 
naturally  he  had  assumed  toward  her  the  air  of 
a  protector. 

She  patted  him.  His  former  long,  dark  curls 
for  the  last  two  years  had  lain  in  a  silk  bag, 
among  the  mother's  precious  possessions.  His 
baby  clothes  had  been  replaced  by  military 
uniforms,  and  the  eaglet  she  once  had  embroid- 
ered on  his  dresses,  now,  made  of  jewels,  he 
wore  pinned  on  his  breast.  It  was  the  one  re- 
maining sign  of  his  babyhood  which  he  would 
still  endure.  But  it  delighted  her  to  foster  the 
air  of  the  dictator  which  the  boy  naturally 
assumed  toward  her;  because  she  had  great 
dreams  for  him,  she  wanted  him  to  learn  to 
command  from  early  boyhood.  She  was  content 

205 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

to  assume  the  role  of  second,  in  order  that  he 
might  learn  to  be  first. 

She  waited  patiently  for  him  to  speak.  Tak- 
ing up  his  hand  she  kissed  it.  "This  little  hand 
will  some  day  be  a  man's  hand,  and  do  men's 
deeds,"  she  murmured. 

"Sultana  mother,  when  does  a  boy  become 
a  man?" 

The  moment  had  come,  and  she  thanked 
Allah  for  it  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  soul. 
Taking  both  his  hands,  she  placed  them  on  her 
heart.  "My  son,  it  is  here  that  I  carried  you 
for  nine  whole  months,  keeping  myself  pure  in 
action  and  pure  in  thought,  so  that  your  little 
body  should  grow  within  me  in  purity.  I 
thought  of  you,  and  you  alone,  from  the  mo- 
ment you  came  to  me.  I  breathed  clean  air  so 
that  you  should  have  it  clean.  I  did  not  light 
one  cigarette,  lest  it  might  annoy  you.  I  ate  no 
heavy  food,  so  that  you  might  not  be  disturbed 
by  its  heaviness ;  and  never  did  I  permit  myself 
to  feel  anger  or  hate,  so  that  you  should  not 
learn  those  mean  things  through  me.  When  you 
were  born,  your  little  body  was  perfect,  because 
I  had  worked  for  its  perfection.  All  that  is  what 

206 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

the  woman  does  for  her  son;  but  the  son  has  also 
a  father,  and  some  day  you  will  be  a  father  of 
sons  —  when  you  will  be  a  man.  You  should 
look  upon  your  body  as  proudly  as  you  do  upon 
your  rank,  and  keep  it  clean  and  sweet.  You 
asked  me  just  now  when  a  boy  becomes  a  man. 
I  should  say  when  he  was  twenty-one  years 
old." 

"Twenty-one,"  Bayazet  repeated  thought- 
fully. "It  seems  to  me  a  man  is  very  old  when 
he  is  twenty-one." 

"My  son,  suppose  you  were  in  the  woods, 
hunting,  and  the  exercise  had  given  you  great 
desire  for  food.  Your  food  awaits  you  two  hours 
away:  there  your  table  is  spread.  Nevertheless, 
you  are  very  hungry,  and  come  upon  a  small 
child,  eating.  Although  it  is  only  child's  food, 
it  would  appease  your  hunger.  You  are  bigger 
and  stronger  —  would  you  take  it  from  him  ? " 

"But  suppose  that,  instead  of  a  child,  I  meet 
a  man's  feast,  and  am  invited  to  partake  — 
must  I  still  keep  on  until  I  reach  my  own 
table?" 

"Bayazet,  in  my  allegory,  you  cannot  be  in- 
vited to  a  man's  feast  while  you  are  yet  a  boy; 

207 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

and  you  will  not  be  a  man  before  you  are 
twenty-one.  Should  you  take  a  wife  before  you 
reach  that  age,  you  would  be  like  a  hunter  who 
stole  the  child's  food.  And  that  child  would  be 
your  own  son,  and  the  food  you  would  steal  from 
him  would  be  the  strength  and  the  power  which 
you  must  reserve  in  yourself  to  give  to  your 
sons.  A  man  is  what  his  mother  and  father 
make  of  him.  Would  you  like,  my  prince,  to  be 
the  father  of  weak  and  sickly  sons?" 

Bayazet  shook  his  head  vehemently. 

"Then  remember  that  your  sons  are  flesh  of 
your  flesh,  and  blood  of  your  blood,  and  that 
they  will  be  what  you  make  of  them.  You 
would  not  be  what  you  are  had  I  not  thought 
solely  of  you  before  you  were  born.  Should  you 
misuse  your  strength  before  you  are  twenty- 
one,  you  will  rob  your  sons  of  their  inherit- 

M  5-*^tJ J  •»-»!*-«£   s^6  'f   0  t    9   +H.  * 

ance. 

"But  my  bodyguard  told  me  that  already 
there  are  women  who  wish  to  acclaim  me  as 
their  lord.  All  my  brothers  are  lords  of  women 
before  they  are  fourteen.  Am  I,  then,  to  be 
considered  inferior  to  them?" 

A  shudder  passed  over  Kizatesh  Sultana,  as 
208 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

she  listened  to  these  words.  Some  one  was 
already  at  work,  like  a  thief  in  the  night. 

"My  prince,  do  you  think  that  the  strong, 
fair-haired  young  Englishman  who  teaches  you 
is  less  of  a  man  than  your  brothers?" 

"No;  he  is  much  more,"  Bayazet  said  de- 
cidedly. 

"Yet  he  possesses  no  women  —  and  he  is  far 
stronger,  far  more  of  a  man  than  any  one  here, 
just  because  he  can  be  master  of  himself." 
Kizatesh  clasped  her  son  to  her,  and  held  him 
for  a  long  time  to  her  heart  without  speaking. 
When  she  had  carefully  formed  the  words  of 
what  she  wished  to  say,  she  spoke:  "Lion,  son, 
it  is  true  that  you  are  not  yet  a  man  to  be  father 
of  men;  yet  you  are  man  enough  to  make  and 
keep  a  promise.  Will  you  give  a  promise  to 
your  mother,  and  having  given  your  promise, 
can  you  be  strong  enough  and  splendid  enough 
to  keep  it?" 

"Have  I  ever  failed  you?"  he  asked  proudly. 

"Thus  far  you  have  never  failed  me  —  but 
also  you  have  never  been  put  to  a  severe  trial. 
Have  you  the  courage  to  keep  a  promise  to  me, 
even  if  a  great  desire  may  possess  you?  Like 

209 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

the  hunter  in  the  woods,  you  may  become  hun- 
gry long  before  you  reach  your  own  table,  and 
on  all  sides  you  may  see  tempting  food  which 
unlawfully  you  could  make  your  own.  Do  you 
think  you  could  then  keep  your  promise?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  could,"  he  replied  proudly. 

"Let  us  then  have  a  trial  —  before  you  make 
any  promise.  For  three  days  go  without  food, 
while  seeing  tempting  food  within  your  reach. 
That  will  show  you  how  difficult  it  will  be  to 
resist." 

Bayazet  rose  up,  superbly  indignant.  "Eagle 
woman,  do  you  think  you  need  to  give  me  such 
a  trial?" 

"  I  ask  it  as  a  favor." 

"Well,  then,  I  accept —  only  it  shall  be  five 
days,  instead  of  three." 

"No!  No!  That  is  too  much,"  Kizatesh 
cried. 

"  It  must  be  five,  because  I  will  it." 

To  his  mother's  arguments,  he,  in  his 
wounded  pride,  would  not  listen.  That  feeling 
in  him,  which  had  revolted  at  the  idea  of  any 
trial  being  necessary,  now  urged  him  to  make 
the  conditions  of  the  utmost  severity.  Since 

210 


IT   MUST   BE    FIVE,    BECAUSE    I    WILL   IT 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

his  eagle  woman  doubted  him,  she  should  learn 
of  what  he  was  capable. 

Kizatesh  Sultana  sent  a  letter  to  Lionel,  tell- 
ing him  of  the  trial,  and  begging  him  to  per- 
suade Bayazet  to  be  content  with  a  three  days' 
fast. 

"Plucky  little  beggar,"  the  Englishman  mur- 
mured, after  he  had  spoken  with  Bayazet  about 
it,  "  I  believe  he  will  stick  it  out." 

During  the  days  of  fasting,  Kizatesh  Sultana 
did  not  spare  her  son.  Delicious  baskets  of 
fruit  were  the  first  things  that  met  his  eyes 
when  he  woke  up;  plates  of  tempting  slices  of 
bread  and  butter  and  cold  meats  were  placed 
on  the  tables  in  his  dressing-room.  Even  when 
he  came  to  his  lessons,  he  found  viands  on  his 
desk. 

Lionel  had  never  liked  and  admired  the  boy 
so  much  as  during  these  five  days  of  trial. 
Bayazet  touched  nothing.  On  the  evening  of 
the  fifth  day  he  came  to  his  mother.  He  was 
pale,  and  felt  dizzy,  yet  he  stood  before  her 
proudly  as  ever. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  have  had  more  faith 
in  me,  sultana  mother,"  he  said. 

211 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

i 

"  It  was  not  faith  that  I  lacked.  I  wished  you 

to  know  how  difficult  it  would  be  for  you  to 
keep  your  promise.  I  did  not  wish  you  to  say 
later:  'My  mother  had  no  right  to  exact  a 
promise  from  me  which  I  could  not  possibly 
keep.'" 

"And  now  that  I  have  shown  to  you  that  I 
can  do  what  I  will  to  do,  what  is  that  other 
promise  you  wish  me  to  give  you?" 

She  took  him  in  her  arms.  "You  must  eat 
first,  my  son.  It  is  now  five  full  days  since  a 
morsel  of  food  has  passed  your  lips." 

"I  prefer  to  take  the  oath  now,  fasting,  as  if 
this  were  the  real  Ramazan." 

"Very  well,  my  son.  Perhaps  it  is  better.  I 
wish  you  to  promise  me  that  until  you  are 
twenty-one  you  will  refuse  to  become  lord  of 


women." 


Bayazet's  eyebrows  contracted.  "I  shall  be 
laughed  at  by  my  brothers;  but  since  you  and 
Addam  think  it  best,  I  will." 

With  hands  folded  on  his  breast  he  gave  his 
mother  the  promise  that  she  longed  for. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   PRICE  OF  A  WOMAN 

THE  comparative  tranquillity  in  which  those 
concerned  in  this  tale  were  living  was  drawing 
to  a  close.  It  was  no  indefinite  period,  which 
might  last  on  from  year  to  year:  it  had  its  fixed 
limits,  only 'too  well  known  to  most  of  the  ac- 
tors in  this  drama.  Manlove  Pasha  alone  did 
not  know  of  the  five  years'  armistice  between 
the  Sultan  and  Kizatesh  Sultana,  nor  of  the 
struggle  that  had  preceded  it.  Hence,  for  some 
months  after  Lala  Sheddin's  visit  to  him,  he 
had  chafed  under  the  expectation  of  something 
about  to  happen,  which  never  happened;  but  as 
a  year  passed,  and  then  another,  without  bring- 
ing any  dire  results,  his  apprehensions  gradually 
dulled  themselves  on  the  edge  of  time.  The 
only  circumstance  that,  at  irregular  intervals, 
reminded  him  that  something  might  yet  occur, 
were  the  sums,  now  large,  now  small,  which  the 
head  eunuch  entrusted  to  him  to  invest  for 
Lionel.  These  now  amounted  to  a  considerable 

213 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

total,  which  was  rapidly  increasing,  since  the 
interest  was  always  added  to  the  principal.  Ex- 
cept for  this,  Manlove  Pasha  would  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  thatLala  Sheddin  had  abandoned 
whatever  scheme  he  once  had  entertained. 

On  the  day  which  ended  Lionel's  fifth  year  in 
the  service  of  the  Sultan,  the  young  English- 
man arose  earlier  than  usual.  It  was  cool  and 
fresh,  and  the  air  had  that  velvety  quality 
which  soothes  the  nerves  and  stirs  the  mind  to 
reveries  of  the  past.  Lionel  stood  on  his  bal- 
cony, breathing  in  the  air  gently  blowing  up 
from  the  Bosphorus.  He  was  not  ruminating 
of  the  past,  but  speculating  about  the  future. 
Five  years  he  had  been  here,  and  this  was  sig- 
nificant because  in  a  few  days  there  would  also 
be  at  an  end  the  five  years  during  which  the 
Sultan  had  promised  to  leave  Kizatesh  Sultana 
in  peace.  Then  again  the  thwarted  monarch 
would  be  at  liberty  to  persecute  —  to  punish  — 
to  torture,  if  he  would,  the  woman  who  had 
withstood  him.  The  Englishman's  lips  were 
drawn  into  a  straight  line,  and  his  hands  were 
clenched  in  his  pockets.  Who  was  to  defend  her 
when  these  last  few  days  were  past? 

214 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Well,  my  friend,  your  face  looks  as  if  you 
were  preparing  to  hit  some  one  a  hard  blow." 

The  eunuch,  as  usual,  had  appeared,  softly, 
unannounced.  Lionel  shook  hands  with  him. 

"What  brings  you  here  with  the  sun?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  not  with  the  sun.  He  has  been  up  a 
long  time,  and  has  no  doubt  already  seen  a  lot 
of  mischief,  though  we  may  know  nothing  of  it. 
As  to  what  brings  me  here :  a  message  from  my 
imperial  master." 

"A  message?  Forme?" 

Lala  Sheddin  nodded.  "It  is  five  years  to- 
day since  you  undertook  to  teach  his  sons." 

"Oh!  Did  he  remember  that?" 

"Yes.  He  seems  to  have  a  good  memory  for 
dates,"  the  eunuch  replied  dryly. 

A  pause  followed,  full  of  significance  for  both 
men.  Lionel  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Then — er — I  suppose  there  is  no  chance  that 
he  will  forget  that  the  five  years  of  Kizatesh 
Sultana's —  er — respite  are  drawing  to  a  close?" 

Through  half-closed  eyes  the  eunuch  gazed 
toward  the  far  horizon,  where  the  loveliest  of 
hills  bathed  their  feet  in  the  Bosphorus. 

215 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"I  think  he  will  remember,"  he  replied 
slowly. 

The  two  men  remained  silent  for  several 
minutes.  Then  the  eunuch  asked :  — 

"Were  you  thinking  of  that,  when  you 
looked  so  —  savage?" 

"Savage!  Was  I  looking  especially  savage?" 
Lionel  asked  evasively. 

Lala  Sheddin  laughed.  "Don't  waste  your 
time  pretending.  I  know  you  as  well  as  a 
mother  knows  her  only  child.  But  don't  you 
wish  to  know  my  message?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"You  are  to  come  up  with  me  to  the  palace, 
and  there  you  are  to  take  breakfast  with  my 
imperial  master,  and  with  all  the  princes  who 
have  been  or  who  still  are  your  pupils.  His 
intention  also  is  to  decorate  you.  That  is  why 
I  came  so  early  —  to  give  you  time  to  make 
yourself  fit  for  such  imperial  breakfasting.  Now 
you  may  go  and  get  ready  —  while  I  sit  here 
and  speculate  as  to  the  cause  of  the  savage  look 
you  wore  when  I  appeared.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I 
have  also  a  package  for  you  —  from  Kizatesh 
Sultana." 

216 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

From  the  pocket  of  his  frock  coat  the  eunuch 
produced  a  small  bundle,  wrapped  in  a  piece 
of  brocade.  Cool  and  self-restrained  as  Lionel 
was,  the  color  flew  to  his  cheeks;  and  his  con- 
fusion was  increased  by  the  knowledge  that  the 
shrewd  eyes  of  the  other  were  fastened  upon 
him.  "Confound  the  man!"  he  thought. 

Carelessly  he  accepted  the  package,  and 
turned  to  go. 

"I  shall  have  to  invent  some  nice  things  to 
tell  Kizatesh  Sultana  that  you  said,  or  her  feel- 
ings will  be  hurt.  It's  hard  lines  to  have  to 
invent  things  for  everybody's  feelings,"  Lala 
Sheddin  complained.  "I  expected  you  would, 
at  least,  manifest  a  little  pleasure  in  her  gift  — 
considering  she  has  worked  at  it  for  months." 

"I  am  awfully  obliged,"  Lionel  replied,  blush- 
ing anew. 

Lala  Sheddin  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and 
shook  him  —  and  the  Englishman  was  amazed 
at  his  strength :  "Come  now,  my  boy,  you  know 
you  are  as  happy  as  —  how  do  you  say?  —  ah, 
yes  —  as  happy  as  punches.  Are  you  going  to 
your  room  to  put  away  the  package  until  a 
more  convenient  time?  No!  You  will  open  it 

217 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

as  soon  as  you  are  alone.  Therefore,  why  not 
open  it  now?  Do  you  think  because  I  know  the 
vanity  of  the  world,  I  have  outgrown  curiosity? 
Some  months  ago  she  asked  my  permission  to 
make  something  for  you,  for  this  date.  I  gave 
her  the  permission  —  and  now  I  want  to  know 
what  is  in  the  package." 

Lionel  unwrapped  the  piece  of  brocade.  In- 
side it  was  a  little  pile  of  handkerchiefs,  beauti- 
fully embroidered  with  a  mother  eagle  and  an 
eaglet. 

On  the  wings  of  each  was  embroidered  a 
letter,  and  to  the  Englishman's  surprise,  it  was 
the  letter  L.  There  was  also  a  note :  — 

From  Bayazefs  mother,  whose 
heart  is  a  mosque,  in  which  the 
religion  is  gratitude  for  you 

Lionel  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket.  This, 
at  least,  he  would  not  share  with  Lala  Sheddin. 
He  pointed  to  the  embroidered  Us  on  the 
wings. 

"How  did  she  know  my  name?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  we  have  talked  a  good  deal  about  you. 
She  knows  all  that  I  know.  Sometimes  it 

218 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

seems  to  me  that  she  even  knows  more."  As  the 
eunuch  contemplated  the  little  pile  of  hand- 
kerchiefs, he  shook  his  head  wearily.  "There  is 
a  special  Providence  for  fools  and  women.  Had 
this  package  been  found  on  me  —  with  a  note 
to  you  —  I  don't  know  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  her;  but  I  know  that  by  this  time  / 
should  have  been  hanging  from  some  tree,  of 
which  my  master  would  have  had  a  good  view 
from  his  window.  I  was  carrying  my  own 
death-warrant,  and  did  not  know  it." 

He  picked  up  one  of  the  handkerchiefs,  and 
examined  the  eagles,  smiling  grimly. 

"When  you  go  to  breakfast  with  my  master, 
suppose  you  take  one  of  these,  and  let  him  see 
what  an  excellent  needlewoman  Kizatesh  Sul- 
tana is.  I  doubt  whether  he  knows  of  this  ac- 
complishment of  hers."  The  eunuch  with  his 
head  on  one  side  caressed  his  beardless  chin. 
"By  the  Mantle  of  the  Prophet,  that  would  be 
an  experience,"  he  chuckled.  An  instant  later 
he  was  quite  serious  again.  "Enjoy  these  hand- 
kerchiefs all  you  wish,  to-day.  To-night  Man- 
love  Pasha  is  coming  to  dine  with  you.  Give 
them  to  him,  and  tell  him  to  send  them  to 
219 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

England  to  await  you  there.  Here  they  are  too 
— explosive.  I  should  love  to  whip  her  for  this. 
I  don't  know  what  Allah  was  thinking  of  when 
he  created  women.  He  must  have  been  absent- 
minded,  and  have  forgotten  to  give  them  any 


sense." 


Again  he  contemplated  the  little  pile  of 
handkerchiefs,  and  smiled:  "Allah  must  have 
a  sense  of  humor,"  he  murmured.  "The  Sul- 
tan holds  sway  over  nine  hundred  million  souls 
—  yet  those  handkerchiefs  he  could  not  have 
as  a  free  gift,  for  all  his  power.  And  now  you 
will  go  up  to  him,  you  will  drop  on  one  knee  be- 
fore him,  and  he  will  decorate  you  with  a  pre- 
cious bauble :  and  for  nothing  that  he  possesses 
would  you  even  let  him  see  one  of  these  pre- 
cious handkerchiefs.  It  is  a  humorous  'world. 
Well,  go  and  get  ready:  things  will  happen  as 
they  will  happen." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Sultan  received  the 
tutor  and  the  head  eunuch  with  all  his  Oriental 
courtesy  and  charm  of  manner.  He  motioned 
to  the  Englishman  to  sit  down  on  the  foot  of  the 
divan,  on  which  he  was  half-reclining.  With 
another  motion  he  dismissed  Lala  Sheddin. 
220 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"It  is  five  years  to-day  since  you  came  here," 
he  began  graciously.  "You  have  been  happy?" 

"Quite  so,  your  majesty." 

"Anton  Effendi  calls  you  a  monk.  Are  you 
going  to  take  orders?" 

"No,  your  majesty." 

"Then  —  are  you  going  to  be  married?" 

"I  do  not  think  so,  your  majesty." 

"Is  there  a  woman  —  you  are  in  love  with?" 
He  spoke  with  an  odd  drawl  in  the  middle  of 
his  sentence,  which  somehow  gave  to  his  words 
unusual  significance. 

After  a  slight  hesitation,  the  Englishman  an- 
swered: "Yes,  your  majesty." 

"  She  must  be  a  very  difficult  lady  —  to  make 
you  wait  so  long." 

Lionel  made  no  reply  to  this. 

"And  you  must  love  her  very  much,  to  be 
able  to  live  so  indifferent  to  the  rest  of  woman- 
kind," the  Sultan  went  on. 

Again  the  tutor  did  not  answer. 

"Is  she  —  very  beautiful?" 

"She  has  a  beautiful  soul." 

"We  are  told  women  have  no  souls.  Do  you 
believe  differently?" 

221 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

"My  mother  had  a  soul.  The  woman  I  love 
has  one." 

The  Sultan  played  with  the  string  of  precious 
beads  in  his  hand,  meditatively.  Then  he 
asked :  — 

"  Is  it  because  she  has  a  soul  that  she  refuses 
to  be  yours?  Or  is  it  because  you  are  poor? 
Suppose  you  were  a  monarch,  like  me,  would 
she  then  come  to  you?" 

"No,  your  majesty.  The  soul  of  a  woman 
has  no  price." 

"You  talk  as  poets  talk  —  but  you  are  wrong. 
Allah  alone  has  no  price :  women  are  created 
to  bring  joy  to  men."  After  a  slight  pause  he 
added:  "Do  you  not  hope  some  day  to  make 
her  yours?" 

"I  have  no  hope  of  that,  your  majesty." 

"Meanwhile,  her  youth  is  passing;  her  bloom 
is  fading.  But  since  there  is  no  hope  of  your 
obtaining  the  woman  you  love,  I  suppose  we 
can  count  on  keeping  you  here." 

"I  should  like  to  stay  here  until  Bayazet 
finishes  his  education." 

The  Sultan  glanced  quickly  at  the  tutor. 
"Why  only  Bayazet?"  he  asked. 

222 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Because  —  er"  —  Lionel  thought  he  dis- 
cerned awakening  suspicion  in  the  words  of  the 
monarch  —  "because  he  is  the  youngest  pupil 
I  started  with." 

The  ray  of  suspicion- — if  it  were  such  —  dis- 
appeared from  the  countenance  of  the  Sultan,  and 
in  its  place  appeared  an  appraising  expression. 

"  Is Bayazet  cleverer  than  his  brothers? "  he 
asked. 

"He  is  different." 

"Is  the  *  difference*  in  his  favor?" 

Lionel  weighed  his  reply  carefully. 

"It  is  a  matter  of  taste,  your  majesty." 

The  Commander  of  the  Faithful  did  not 
pursue  the  subject  further.  Instead  he  laid  his 
hand  on  a  box,  near  him  on  the  divan,  and 
opened  it.  It  contained  a  decoration.  He 
glanced  at  it,  then  clapped  his  hands,  and,  to 
Lala  Sheddin,  who  entered,  he  said :  — 

"I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  prefer  to  give 
to  Adams  Effendi  a  decoration  of  a  higher 
order.  Keep  this  yourself." 

Lala  Sheddin  kneeled  and  kissed  the  foot  of 
the  monarch,  took  the  decoration,  and  left  the 
room.  He  returned  with  another  box. 

223 


THE'GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Come,  Adams  EfFendi,"  said  the  Sultan. 

The  Englishman  dropped  on  one  knee  before 
him,  and  the  Sultan  fastened  the  decoration 
upon  his  breast. 

"This  is  for  your  services  to  my  sons."  Then 
from  his  pocket  he  drew  a  gold  cigarette-case, 
engraved  with  the  imperial  arms.  "And  this  is 
from  me." 

Lionel  thanked  him,  glad  to  be  through  with 
his  knight-errant  posturing. 

"And  now,  as  to  your  poetical  love,"  the 
Sultan  said  suddenly,  "perhaps  if  you  were  to 
describe  her,  one  similar  to  her  might  be  found 
to  console  you." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  the  Englishman  replied 
icily.  And  there  blazed  a  light  in  his  eyes  be- 
fore which  the  gaze  of  the  potentate  flickered 
and  sought  the  far  horizon. 

Presently  the  Sultan  turned  to  Lala  Shed- 
din:  "My  sons  may  now  join  us  for  breakfast." 

During  the  next  few  days  the  tension  of  wait- 
ing—  he  knew  not  for  what  —  grew  almost 
insupportable  for  Lionel.  Had  the  Sultan  for- 
gotten? Had  he  found  a  new  favorite?  And 

224 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

if  he  had,  would  that  make  him  forgive  the 
woman  who  had  repulsed  him? 

The  Sultan  had  proved  to  the  Englishman 
that  he  had  a  good  memory. 

How  would  he  now  plan  his  revenge?  Would 
it  not  be  in  the  manner  that  would  be  most 
poignantly  felt  —  through  Kizatesh  Sultana's 
love  for  her  boy?  Fiercely  Lionel  resented  this. 
The  Sultan  and  he  had  oddly  reversed  roles; 
and  with  something  like  a  father's  love  Lionel 
thought  protectingly  of  Bayazet. 

A  week  passed,  and  nothing  happened.  In- 
stead of  lulling  Lionel's  fears,  the  delay  in- 
creased them. 

On  the  ninth  day,  Bayazet  did  not  come  to 
his  morning  lessons.  Lionel  hoped  that  he 
might  only  be  ill,  and  was  alert  for  any  word  his 
brothers  might  drop  about  it  —  he  dared  not 
ask  them. 

In  the  afternoon,  with  an  anxiety  that  no 
one  could  understand  whose  life  and  interests 
had  not  been  as  restricted  as  had  Lionel's,  he 
awaited  the  hour  for  his  private  lesson  with 
Bayazet.  At  the  appointed  time  the  boy  did  not 

225 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

appear.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  —  twenty 
minutes. 

Lionel  got  up  and  paced  the  length  of  his 
room. 

At  the  half-hour  he  heard  hurried  footsteps 
approaching;  the  door  of  the  schoolroom  was 
flung  open,  and  Bayazet  came  in,  without  a 
bodyguard,  and  carrying  his  own  books. 

"Good-day!"  he  said  gruffly. 

His  face  was  pale  and  haggard,  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  he  was  unhappy.  That  he  was 
blazing  with  rage  was  also  plain.  The  tutor 
thought  it  best  to  wait  for  the  boy  to  speak;  yet 
it  was  the  Englishman  who  finally  broke  the 
silence. 

"If  you  are  in  trouble,  Bayazet,  there  is  no 
need  of  my  telling  you  that  I  will  help  you,  if  I 
am  able  to." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  miserably.  "No,  no 
one  can  help  me.  It  is  not  I,  so  much  as  —  as 
my  mother." 

The  Englishman  felt  a  cold  sinking  at  the 
heart.  For  her,  he  eould  not  even  offer  his 
help. 

Bayazet  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  for 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

an  instant;  then  he  raised  his  head,  and  stamped 
on  the  floor. 

"  She  always  says  I  must  be  a  man  —  and  I 
want  to  cry  like  a  baby.  What  is  the  use  of 
pretending?  I  am  not  a  man.  If  I  were,  I  could 
kill  like  a  man,  and  defend  her  like  a  man."  He 
went  up  to  the  Englishman,  and  placing  his 
clenched  fists  on  his  breast  cried:  "Addam, 
when  shall  I  be  able  to  slay-1-  to  slay?" 

The  boy  looked  like  a  veritable  little  savage. 
Lionel  drew  him  down  upon  his  knee,  tall  as  he 
was. 

"Sit  still  a  minute,  Bayazet.  Perhaps  we 
shall  be  able  to  think  of  some  way  to  help,  even 
better  than  slaying." 

The  boy  threw  his  arms  around  his  tutor's 
neck,  and  for  a  few  seconds  the  dark  head  rested 
on  the  man's  breast,  while  the  sobs,  for  so  long 
restrained,  shook  his  young  frame.  Then  he 
sprang  up. 

"I  cannot  sit  still.  If  I  do,  I  just  think!  I 
should  not  mind  it  so  much  if  I  could  see  her 
and  talk  it  over  with  her.  I  did  not  sleep  all 
night:  my  thoughts  would  not  let  me  sleep." 

His  large,  dark  eyes  were  larger  than  usual, 
227 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE  SULTAN 

and  reminded  Lionel  more  than  ever  of  those 
fiery,  dark  eyes,  which  had  met  his  for  one  sec- 
ond, just  five  years  ago. 

"Suppose  we  try  to  study,"  Lionel  suggested. 
"That  may  calm  your  thoughts." 

"But  I  do  not  want  to  calm  my  thoughts. 
Addam,  do  you  know  what  they  mean  me  to 
stand?  They  mean  me  never,  never  to  see  my 
mother's  face  again.  I  tried  to  go  to  her  this 
morning,  in  spite  of  them.  I  fought  with  hands 
and  feet  and  teeth.  I  hit  and  hit  and  hit,  but 
after  all,  I  could  not  defeat  an  army  of  eunuchs 
—  and  that  is  what  stood  between  me  and  her. 
And  that  still  stands  between  us.  She  can 
fight  her  way  even  less  than  I;  for  she  is  little, 
like  a  white  flower.  What  is  she  doing?  Is  she 
crying  —  and  are  they  mocking  her  ?  Is  she  beg- 
ging for  me,  and  are  they  laughing  at  her? 
Addam,  when  shall  I  be  big  enough  to  slay? 
I  don't  want  to  learn  any  more  from  books.  I 
want  you  to  teach  me  to  slay  men  —  to  slay 
all  that  army  that  stands  between  me  and  her, 
so  that  I  can  pass  over  their  dead  bodies  to  get 
to  my  mother." 

"Suppose  you  were  to  see  your  father,  and 
228 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

ask  him  to  let  you  see  your  mother  and  talk 
the  matter  over  with  her,"  Lionel  suggested, 
though  with  faint  belief  in  his  own  suggestion. 
"Don't  ask  it  in  anger;  ask  it  as  a  favor." 

"He  will  not  see  me.  I  tried  all  last  night, 
and  all  this  morning  —  he  refuses  to  see  me. 
Yesterday,  in  the  evening,  when  at  my  cus- 
tomary hour  I  was  going  to  my  mother,  I  was 
stopped  and  told  that  from  now  on  I  was  to  live 
in  the  salemlik,  with  the  men.  I  asked  to  go 
and  see  her  —  as  my  brothers  see  their  mothers 
—  and  then  go  to  the  salemlik,  and  was  told 
that  I  was  not  to  see  my  mother.  I  don't  know 
how,  but  gradually  I  understood  that  I  was 
never,  never  to  see  her  again."  Bayazet  choked, 
and  for  a  minute  could  not  speak.  "Yesterday 
morning  I  left  her  as  usual.  She  knew  nothing 
of  what  was  coming;  for  she  was  as  happy  as  she 
always  is.  Now,  where  is  she?  What  is  she  do- 
ing? Why  am  I  not  to  see  her  again?  I  do  not 
understand,  and  my  father  refuses  to  speak 
with  me." 

The  door  opened,  and  two  stalwart  men  en- 
tered. They  salaamed  to  the  floor.  "We  are 
your  new  bodyguard,"  they  announced. 

229 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

Bayazet  looked  at  them  sneeringly.  "I 
struck  my  bodyguard  this  morning  with  a  glass, 
which  broke  on  his  face.  So  now  they  give  me 
two  new  ones  —  and  quite  big  ones,  too.  They 
flatter  me." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FATHER  AND   SON 

THE  Sultan  remained  half-reclining  on  his 
divan,  but  his  hand  stopped  playing  with  his 
beads. 

"I  believe  I  said  that  I  did  not  wish  you  to 
disturb  me,"  he  said  coldly. 

"I  have  not  come  to  disturb  you,  father 
Padishah.  I  have  come  to  lay  my  case  before 
you,  and  to  ask  of  you  —  justice." 

"Do  you  imply  that  justice  has  not  been 
accorded  you  by  me?" 

"Not  by  you,  father  Padishah,  but  by  those 
who  do  not  understand  your  orders." 

"It  is  by  my  orders  that  you  are  henceforth 
to  live  in  the  salemlik." 

"I  am  only  nine  years  old.  I  should  have 
three  years  more  to  live  with  my  mother." 

"  It  is  true  that  you  are  only  nine  years  old, 
but  you  are  taller  than  any  of  your  four  brothers 
who  are  twelve  years  old  —  you  are  as  tall  as 
most  of  your  brothers  who  are  fourteen.  They 

231 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

all  live  in  the  salemlik,  like  men,  without  mak- 
ing a  fuss  and  forcing  themselves  into  my  pres- 
ence. Are  you  such  a  baby  that  the  lack  of  a 
woman's  lap  to  sit  on  makes  you  forget  all 
etiquette?" 

Bayazet  flushed.  "  Since  it  is  by  your  orders, 
I  bow  to  them,  Padishah.  Yet  all  my  brothers 
who  live  in  the  salemlik  are  permitted  to  go  to 
their  mothers  whenever  they  like.  Why  am  I 
alone  to  be  denied  this  privilege?" 

The  ruler  of  Islam  affected  an  air  of  supreme 
indifference,  lest  he  betray  to  the  boy  the  thrill 
which  his  manly  tones  sent  through  him.  To 
safeguard  the  interests  of  the  reigning  monarch 
it  was  necessary  that  the  heirs  to  the  great 
throne  should  be  without  will,  without  initia- 
tive, with  little  courage.  Only  thus  could  all 
danger  of  revolt  and  upheaval  be  avoided.  Yet 
the  father  in  the  monarch  gloried  in  the  spirit 
of  this  son.  He  gloried  in  it  the  more  because  he 
could  do  so  safely,  since  between  the  boy  and 
the  throne  there  stood  a  great  number  of  nearer 
heirs.  He  indulged  himself  in  the  novelty  of 
meeting  an  intense  personality,  which  was  not 
snuffed  out  by  near  approach  to  his  sacred 

232 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

person.  To  mask  his  unwonted  interest  the 
Sultan  began  to  play  again  with  his  beads, 
stretching  a  leg  out  straight  upon  the  divan, 
while  his  head  slowly  sank  back  on  the  pillows; 
yet  one  arm  supported  the  imperial  head  suf- 
ficiently so  that  his  eyes  should  lose  nothing. 
Feigning  indifference,  he  was  alive  to  every 
change  in  the  boy's  face. 

Bayazet  awaited  the  reply  to  his  entreaty. 
The  Sultan  of  Turkey  chose  to  make  none. 

"You  have  heard  me,  father  Padishah?" 

"Heard  you!  I  have  tried  not  to.  This  is 
insubordination  to  my  will." 

"Father  Padishah,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  in- 
subordinate. I  do  not  mean  to  question  your 
decisions.  I  come  to  you  as  a  suppliant  — " 

The  ruler  interrupted  with  a  laugh.  '"You, 
a  suppliant,  —  when  you  force  your  way  into 
my  presence,  with  storm  on  your  face,  with 
thunder  in  your  voice!  A  suppliant,  with 
clenched  fists,  and  body  erect,  —  as  if  to  im- 
press me  with  your  premature  height.  By  the 
Beard  of  the  Prophet,  you  are  a  humble  sup- 
pliant!" 

The  boy  crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast  —  it 
233 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

may  have  been  to  keep  his  fist  from  clenching 
anew. 

"Does  it  befit  an  imperial  son  of  the  house 
of  Othman  to  be  a  humble  suppliant  —  even  to 
his  Padishah?" 

Involuntarily  the  ruler  changed  his  position. 
With  what  vivid  pride  this  boy  of  his  blood 
carried  himself.  A  tinge  of  fear  crept  into  the 
gaze  of  the  Sultan:  the  father  had  receded;  the 
monarch  was  now  uppermost.  He  appraised 
Bayazet  as  a  new  force  that  had  come  into  his 
life  —  a  force  possibly  hostile.  Bayazet  was 
nine :  in  five  short  years  he  would  be  a  man  — 
a  man  of  action,  of  courage,  and  fully  aware  of. 
his  imperial  heritage.  A  legion  of  brothers  stood 
ahead  of  him,  but  what  was  a  legion  of  spineless 
boys  to  such  a  man  as  Bayazet  would  become? 
Incidents  to  which  he  had  previously  paid  little 
attention  came  rushing  back  into  the  monarch's 
mind.  All  men  in  the  palace  worshiped  this 
boy.  Even  that  Englishman  was  willing  to  stay 
in  the  palace,  living  like  a  monk,  because  he 
loved  Bayazet.  His  old  bodyguard  whom  the 
boy  had  struck  with  a  heavy  piece  of  glass,  and 
who  was  now  in  the  hospital,  was  begging  to  be 

234 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

allowed  to  return  to  his  young  master  as  soon 
as  he  should  be  well;  while  the  two  new  men, 
who  had  been  appointed  in  his  place,  were  anx- 
ious to  retain  their  positions.  And  had  not  Lala 
Sheddin,  one  day,  called  Bayazet  a  veritable 
eagle? 

All  these  thoughts  crowded  the  Sultan's 
brain,  while  his  eyes  held  those  of  his  son,  who 
did  not  flinch  before  his  gaze.  And  Bayazet,  he 
remembered,  was  the  son  of  the  woman  who 
had  defied  him  —  him  the  Shadow  of  Allah  on 
Earth. 

Bayazet,  looking  into  his  father's  eyes,  as  one 
thought  after  another  changed  the  light  in 
them,  became  suddenly  conscious  of  a  vague 
impending  danger.  As  if  he  had  been  warned  in 
words,  he  knew  that  he  must  be  careful.  He  had 
seen  friendliness  in  the  depths  of  his  father's 
eyes,  even  when  his  words  had  been  hard.  Now 
menace  flooded  them. 

Kizatesh  Sultana  was  a  Greek  and  a  Cretan, 
a  combination  fearless  as  it  is  cunning.  Her 
son,  though  only  nine  years  old,  acted  in  this 
emergency  like  the  descendant  of  a  race  of 
strategists.  Before  the  welling  enmity  of  the 

235 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Sultan  had  time  to  culminate,  Bayazet  was  on 
his  knees  beside  the  divan,  his  arms  around 
his  father's  neck,  his  voice,  exquisitely  sweet, 
pleading:  — 

"Father,  why  should  we  quarrel,  you  and 
I,  who  only  have  love  for  each  other?" 

Again  the  father  in  the  monarch  rose  upper- 
most. At  the  moment  Bayazet  could  have  done 
what  he  wished  with  his  father,  who,  with 
Asiatic  sensuousness,  abandoned  himself  to  the 
joy  of  satisfied  fatherhood. 

How  lasting  the  reconciliation  might  have 
become,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Unfortunately, 
there  lingered  about  the  boy  the  exquisite  per- 
fume indelibly  associated  with  his  mother.  As 
the  father  kissed  his  son,  the  senses  of  the  man 
were  stirred  by  half-forgotten  things.  With  the 
scent,  whose  secret  Kizatesh  alone  possessed, 
the  boy's  voice  recalled  the  musical  tones  of 
the  mother.  Slowly  the  dormant  desire  of  the 
man  for  the  woman  awoke.  Fire  rushed  through 
his  veins  with  overpowering  strength.  He  felt 
alive,  and  ferociously  glad  in  his  passion.  He 
had  been  like  a  man  half-dead  of  late:  he  had 
forgotten  that  within  him  the  man  let  loose 
236 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

could  cause  such  delirious  rioting.  The  woman 
who  was  in  his  power  —  the  woman  who  had 
given  him  this  boy,  and  who  yet  had  never  been 
his,  in  spite  of  her  motherhood  —  that  woman 
he  now  wanted,  as  he  had  never  wanted  her 
before  —  and  he  wanted  her,  loving  and  tender, 
as  the  boy  was  at  this  moment.  He  wanted  her, 
not  with  eyes  shot  with  fear,  but  with  the  ex- 
quisite tenderness  of  the  lovelight  —  with  lips, 
not  shivering  with  horror,  but  tremulously 
seeking  his. 

When  the  Sultan  had  ordered  the  separation 
of  Bayazet  and  his  mother,  he  had  done  so  with- 
out any  well-defined  plan  for  the  future.  It 
was  the  first  move,  while  waiting  for  Fate  to 
guide.  Now  he  knew  what  the  next  step  was  to 
be.  He  must  possess  the  woman.  He  sprang 
from  the  divan. 

"Wait  here!  I  am  going  to  your  mother." 
Striding  past  the  boy,  he  traversed  the  ante- 
chamber, and  passed  down  the  long  corridor, 
amid  bowed  heads,  until  he  reached  the  mebe- 
hin,  the  dividing  door  between  the  men's  and 
the  women's  parts  of  the  palace.  A  group  of 
eunuchs  was  there  playing  cards.  At  sight  of 

237 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

the  potentate,  they  prostrated  themselves,  and 
one,  receiving  a  command,  crawled  from  his 
master's  presence,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
heavy  portiere  which  hid  the  communicating 
door.  Presently,  from  the  other  side,  the  por- 
tiere moved  outward,  raised  by  invisible  eunuchs. 
It  rose  above  the  head  of  the  Calif,  and,  as  he 
advanced  toward  the  door,  slowly  fell  behind 
him,  hiding  the  haremlik  from  any  man's  eyes, 
even  before  its  door  was  opened. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  SHAME   OF  AN  EAGLET 

BAYAZET,  left  alone,  wondered  what  had 
caused  all  the  changes  in  his  father,  and  why  he 
had  departed  so  abruptly  to  go  to  his  mother. 
His  mother!  He  caressed  the  eaglet  on  his 
breast,  and  impatience  seized  him  anew  to  be 
a  man.  He  felt  that  his  mother  needed  him  to 
protect  her. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  straight  young  back,  began 
striding  up  and  down  the  room.  He  walked  as 
the  Cretans  do,  in  long  strides,  with  head  erect, 
and  the  springy  step  of  a  free  animal  of  the 
wilds.  His  walk  was  one  of  the  most  attractive 
things  about  Bayazet,  and  his  father  had  often 
remarked  upon  it  with  pride  and  satisfaction. 
If  any  of  his  hearers  knew  just  whence  that 
stride  came,  they  abstained  from  informing  the 
Calif.  For  two  hundred  years  Crete  had  not 
been  a  pleasant  subject  for  any  of  the  rulers  of 
Islam. 

239 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

The  boy  paced  up  and  down,  thinking  in- 
tently, unwilling  even  yet  to  admit  that  any 
one  really  wished  to  separate  him  from  his 
mother  —  least  of  all,  his  own  father.  He  began 
to  speculate  about  this  father,  of  whom  he  had 
heard  so  much,  and  whom  he  actually  knew  so 
little.  Could  he  count  on  him,  as  he  could  on 
his  mother,  or  as  he  could  on  Addam,  "his 
man"?  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Bayazet 
compared  his  father  with  the  Englishman,  and 
instantly  rejected  the  comparison.  It  was  dis- 
loyal to  his  father,  to  the  great  ruler  of  Islam, 
to  compare  him  with  an  ordinary  man.  Yet  the 
comparison  kept  creeping  into  his  mind,  and  it 
did  not  please  him.  He  stamped  his  foot. 

It  now  came  to  him  that  unconsciously  he 
had  been  fashioning  himself  after  his  man,  and 
not  after  his  father.  And  with  pain  he  remem- 
bered that  his  own  mother  had  repeatedly  said  to 
him:  "Do  as  thy  man  tells  thee;  for  thou  must 
grow  to  be  a  man  like  him,  if  thou  wishest  thy 
mother  to  be  proud  of  thee."  Why  had  she  not 
told  him  to  be  like  his  father? 

Abruptly  he  stopped  in  his  walk.  Would  he 
care  to  be  like  his  father?  Something  hurt  within 

240 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

his  heart,  as  he  realized  how  vehemently  he  re- 
fused to  be  like  his  father.  He  closed  his  eyes 
to  blot  out  the  thought,  but  this  did  not  stop 
the  working  of  his  brain.  Instead,  a  terrific 
question  took  possession  of  it:  Had  he  been 
allowed  to  choose  a  father,  which  of  the  two 
would  he  have  chosen  —  the  Sultan  or  his  man? 

Till  now,  for  all  the  liking  and  respect  he  felt 
for  Lionel,  he  had  looked  upon  his  tutor  as  his 
own  property.  Heir  to  the  exaggerated  inso- 
lence of  the  imperial  Osmanli,  to  whom  all 
others  in  the  world  stand  inferior,  he  had  never 
thought  of  his  man  except  as  a  being  belonging 
to  him,  Bayazet,  who  was  the  master.  Now, 
when  in  his  mind  he  knew  he  preferred  him  to 
his  father,  the  unparalleled  suspicion  came  over 
him  that  perhaps  the  Englishman  was  not  only 
his  equal,  but  might  even  be  his  superior  —  the 
superior  of  him,  Bayazet,  the  Osmanli  prince. 
Staggered  at  the  bare  possibility,  he  dropped  on 
a  low  divan,  behind  a  screen  of  mother-of-pearl, 
his  chin  in  both  his  hands. 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  furi- 
ous reentrance  of  his  father,  who,  oblivious  of 
his  presence,  threw  himself  upon  his  couch,  and 
241 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

with  hands  and  teeth  began  tearing  the  pillows, 
while  words  came  from  his  lips  which  made  his 
son  rigid  with  cold  shame,  for  his  father  and  for 
himself.  But  what  above  all  else  tore  the  heart 
of  the  boy,  was  the  bestiality  on  the  face  of  the 
man,  whom  till  now  he  had  only  seen  surrounded 
by  the  magnificence  of  his  exalted  station.  He, 
who  had  seemed  above  all  human  beings, — 
an  emblem  rather  than  a  man,  —  was  now 
stripped  of  his  outward  magnificence,  and  lay 
before  his  son,  a  pitiful,  a  loathsome  object. 

The  blood  burned  in  Bayazet's  veins.  He 
wanted  to  shriek  to  his  father  to  stop  —  to 
stop  tearing  and  mumbling — to  stop  degrad- 
ing himself  before  his  son.  But  the  Sultan, 
abandoning  himself  to  his  rage,  gradually  lost 
every  vestige  of  self-control;  and  every  base  de- 
sire of  his  was  revealed  in  the  torrent  of  words 
which  poured  from  his  mouth. 

In  the  tender,  loving  atmosphere  with  which 
his  mother  had  surrounded  him,  in  the  high- 
minded  comradeship  of  the  Englishman,  Baya- 
zet  had  not  even  suspected  that  such  human 
wreckage  could  exist  —  and  the  wreck  before 
him  was  his  own  father,  his  Padishah.  An  al- 

242 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

most  overpowering  desire  seized  the  boy  to 
rise  and  destroy  the  man  before  him,  to  avenge 
his  humiliated  pride,  his  princely  dignity. 

"Kizatesh,  by  the  Beard  of  the  Prophet,  thou 
shalt  submit  thyself  to  me — thou  shalt!" 

With  a  raucous,  bestial  snarl  the  Sultan  rose. 
He  scattered  the  torn  pillows,  and  made  for  the 
door. 

With  a  bound  Bayazet  was  before  his  father. 
On  the  instant  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  man,  and 
spoke  with  self-control.  He  raised  his  hand  be- 
fore his  father. 

"Remember  that  you  are  the  Commander  of 
the  Faithful —  the  Ruler  of  Islam  —  the  Shad- 
ow of  Allah  on  Earth.  Do  not  let  any  other  hu- 
man being  see  you  as  you  are  at  this  moment." 

The  voice  was  so  tense,  so  authoritative  that 
the  Sultan  stopped.  The  boy  seemed  to  him 
extraordinarily  big.  Man  and  boy  held  each 
other's  eyes,  and  the  man's  dropped  before  his 
son's.  The  Sultan  drew  back  —  back,  till  he 
reached  the  wall,  and  leaned  against  it,  shiver- 
ing. As  the  father  retreated,  the  boy  advanced, 
his  face  white,  his  eyes  ablaze,  and  never  for  an 
instant  losing  their  command  of  the  man. 
243 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

•  Entirely  unnerved  now,  the  Sultan  began  to 
weep. 

Bayazet  salaamed  very  low  before  his  father, 
and  spoke  to  him  with  all  the  exaggerated  cere- 
mony that  he  could  command.  His  one  desire 
was  to  force  the  man  before  him  to  assume  his 
proper  position,  to  be  reinstated  again  with  all 
his  holy  rights.  He  failed,  and  saw  the  man  fall 
a  heap  upon  the  floor,  crying  like  the  most  piti- 
ful of  children.  Never  in  his  life  had  Bayazet 
himself  wept  like  this:  always  when  he  cried 
there  was  rage  in  his  tears,  not  broken  spirit. 

Outside  there  was  the  sound  of  footsteps 
running,  and  Bayazet  rushed  to  intercept  them. 
He  was  just  in  time. 

"No  one  must  enter!"  he  commanded  im- 
periously. "Go  back,  all  of  you,  and  send  Lala 
Sheddin  here.  If  one  of  you  comes  nearer  than 
this  anteroom,  he  will  pay  for  it  with  his  life." 

He  had  managed  to  draw  the  portieres  before 
any  of  the  eunuchs  had  seen  into  the  room,  and 
now  he  stood  holding  them  together  behind  him, 
as  he  watched  the  men  ebb  away.  He  stayed 
there  until  Lala  Sheddin  came  hurrying  up. 

"My  father  is  not  well.  Stay  here,  and  keep 
244 


AS  THE   FATHER   RETREATED   THE   BOY   ADVANCED 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

all  these  men  away.  I  will  call  you  if  you  are 
needed." 

He  slipped  through  the  portieres  and  ran  to 
his  father,  still  weeping  on  the  floor.  Half-lift- 
ing, half-dragging  him,  he  got  him  upon  the 
divan,  arranged  a  pillow  beneath  his  head,  and 
covered  him  with  a  richly  embroidered  coverlet. 

"There,  father  Padishah,  you  will  be  better 
in  a  few  minutes.  You  have  been  touched  by 
some  bad  fever,  which  has  weakened  your  spirit 
and  your  strength." 

He  lowered  the  shades,  and  picked  up  all  the 
torn  pillows  and  put  them  in  a  pile  in  one  corner. 
Then  he  returned  and  knelt  by  his  father,  and 
began  soothing  his  forehead,  a  protecting  feel- 
ing having  replaced  his  other  emotions. 

The  Sultan  wept  drearily,  and  then  fell 
asleep.  Watching  him,  Bayazet's  mind  was 
again  besieged  by  the  thoughts  of  a  little  while 
ago.  He  recalled  the  words  of  his  mother  as  to 
what  a  man  and  a  father  ought  to  be.  What  had 
his  eagle  woman  been  thinking  of  when  she  had 
given  him  such  a  father?  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  world  when  a  boy  could 
not  feel  a  fierce  pride  in  his  father  —  a  pride 

245 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

such  as  Bayazet,  till  a  few  minutes  ago,  had 
been  able  to  feel. 

He  lowered  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  his 
thoughts  flew  back  to  the  Englishman.  Was 
the  Englishman  nobler  than  his  father?  He  was 
stronger;  he  was  manlier;  and  the  boy  could  not 
imagine  his  ever  weeping  as  his  father  had. 
Bayazet's  pride  in  his  position  and  his  blood 
began  to  crumble  within  him.  He  felt  so  piti- 
fully small  and  of  no  consequence  —  since  he 
could  not  be  proud.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  eaglet 
his  mother  loved  him  to  wear.  Could  he  be  an 
eaglet,  with  a  father  such  as  this?  Burning 
tears  came  into  his  eyes.  With  the  back  of  his 
hand  he  brushed  them  away — he  had  seen  too 
much  weeping  that  day  —  and  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"At  any  rate,  my  mother  is  an  eagle,"  he  said, 
between  gritted  teeth.  "And  my  sons  must 
not  be  ashamed  of  me." 

From  time  to  time  Lala  Sheddin  peeped 
through  the  closed  portieres  until  the  monarch 
was  breathing  regularly  in  sleep.   Then  he  tip- 
toed into  the  room,  and  approached  Bayazet, 
246 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

sitting  dejectedly  beside  the  divan.  With  his 
finger  on  his  lips  for  silence,  he  took  the  boy's 
hand  and  led  him  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room. 

"Tell  me  all  that  happened,"  he  said  in  a 
low  tone  —  less  likely  to  arouse  the  sleeper  than 
the  more  sibilant  whisper. 

Bayazet  knew  that  his  mother  and  his  tutor 
trusted  Lala  Sheddin.  Briefly  he  told  him  what 
had  happened,  omitting  such  details  as  his 
pride  could  not  brook  the  mention  of. 

The  eunuch  listened  thoughtfully.  "I  think 
it  would  be  better  if  you  were  to  go  to  your  man 
and  stay  with  him,"  he  said  at  the  end. 

Bayazet  had  no  wish  for  any  companionship, 
if  he  could  not  have  that  of  his  mother.  He 
shook  his  head  in  dissent  at  the  eunuch's  sug- 
gestion. 

"Your  father  might  not  like  to  find  you  here 
when  he  wakes  up,"  Lala  Sheddin  urged.  "Go 
to  your  man  and  stay  with  him  quietly.  For 
your  mother's  sake,  do  not  try  to  see  her  again, 
for  the  present." 

Reluctantly  Bayazet  consented.  As  it  was 
approaching  the  dinner  hour  he  first  went  to 
247 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

his  own  rooms  and  bade  his  valet  dress  him  in 
his  finest  uniform,  with  all  his  medals  and 
decorations.  He  felt  the  need  of  every  exterior 
aid  to  uphold  his  shattered  pride.  Yet,  when 
he  entered  the  pavilion,  resplendent  though  he 
was,  he  found  it  difficult  to  carry  himself  before 
his  tutor  as  he  ordinarily  did.  Because  of  his 
lost  self-esteem,  he  bore  himself  with  unusual 
formality.  He  was  glad  rather  than  sorry  to 
find  two  of  his  brothers  also  present. 

"I  am  inviting  myself  to  dine  with  you, 
Adams  Effendi,"  he  said.  He  had  never  called 
Lionel  anything  except  "Addam,"  since  that 
night  when,  as  a  boy  of  four,  he  had  first  seen 
him;  and  the  "effendi,"  combined  with  the  ex- 
aggerated aloofness  of  the  boy,  convinced  the 
Englishman  that  something  of  grave  impor- 
tance had  happened.  He  received  him,  how- 
ever, as  if  he  perceived  nothing  unusual  in  his 
manner. 

During  the  progress  of  the  dinner  Lionel  fur- 
tively observed  Bayazet,  while  directing  most  of 
his  conversation  to  his  other  two  pupils.  Baya- 
zet was  like  a  changeling.  He  seemed  to  be 
years  older;  his  eyes  Were  hard  and  cold,  and 

248 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

avoided  meeting  those  of  the  tutor.  After  din- 
ner they  all  played  backgammon,  and  Lionel 
felt  that  it  was  only  by  the  most  tremendous 
effort  of  will  that  the  boy  managed  to  play  at 
all. 

While  the  game  was  in  progress  Lala  Shed- 
din  appeared.  He  addressed  himself  to  Baya- 
zet:— 

"The  Padishah  would  like  to  see  you, 
prince." 

He  flattened  himself  against  the  wall  as 
Bayazet  passed  him,  and  then  followed. 

The  Englishman  continued  the  game  me- 
chanically with  the  other  princes,  his  mind  fol- 
lowing Bayazet  up  to  the  palace,  and  hoping 
against  hope  that  no  ill  might  come  of  this  in- 
terview. He  was  relieved  when  at  last  the 
other  two  princes  rose  and  bade  him  good-night. 
He  was  in  no  mood  for  games;  for  the  face 
of  Lala  Sheddin  had  been  grave,  and  the  air 
surcharged  with  apprehension.  The  affairs  of 
all  of  them  seemed  rapidly  approaching  a  crisis. 

He  extinguished  the  lights  and  went  out  of 
doors,  and  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  his 
pavilion,  waiting,  waiting,  —  his  life  seemed  to 

249 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

be  made  up  of  waiting,  —  and  he  knew  not  for 
what.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  could  learn  any- 
thing more  to-night,  yet  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  try  to  sleep.  Hour  after  hour  went 
by,  while  tirelessly  he  padded  up  and  down,  up 
and  down,  in  the  dark.  His  nerves  were  on  such 
a  tension  that  physical  fatigue  refused  to  come 
to  him  and  rest  them.  Once  in  the  night  he 
heard  the  rhythmic  step  of  the  royal  guard  on 
its  way  to  relieve  the  detachment  on  duty. 

Before  the  first  narrow  gleam  of  light  ap- 
peared in  the  east  Lala  Sheddin  came,  silently, 
out  of  the  night.  * 

"You  have  not  gone  to  bed." 

"No.  Has  anything  happened?" 

"The  worst  that  could  happen.  Bayazet 
has  struck  his  father." 

The  two  men  stood  for  a  moment  in  dead 
silence. 

"And  what  will  that  mean?"  Lionel's  lips 
were  so  dry  that  they  could  hardly  enunciate 
the  words. 

"He  who  touches  the  sacred  person  of  the 
Calif  cannot  be  permitted  to  live.  That  is  the 
law." 

250 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

Again  there  was  silence.  It  was  as  if  Lionel's 
mind  had  lost  its  faculties.  That  proud  little 
Bayazet  must  die  was  too  horrible  a  thought  to 
be  grasped. 

"Last  night  was  not  the  beginning,"  Lala 
Sheddin  went  on.  "  In  the  afternoon,  the  Sultan 
—  I  do  not  know  why  —  fell  into  one  of  his 
rages.  The  boy  was  there.  In  some  way  he  had 
caused  it.  As  near  as  I  can  make  out,  it  was 
through  his  resemblance  to  his  mother.  I  sent 
the  boy  to  you,  hoping  that  when  the  Sultan 
awoke  from  the  sleep  into  which  he  always  falls 
after  a  rage,  he  would  have  forgotten  about 
Bayazet.  He  had  not." 

"But  the  father  in  the  Calif —  "  Lionel  be- 
gan, with  a  ray  of  hope. 

"There  is  no  father  in  the  Calif  when  he  be- 
gins to  fear,  —  and  ridiculous  as  it  may  sound 
to  you,  the  Sultan  is  now  afraid  of  Bayazet. 
Last  night,  when  he  ordered  me  to  bring  the 
boy  to  him,  there  was  something  sinister  in  his 
manner.  On  the  way  to  the  palace  I  warned 
Bayazet,  as  openly  as  I  dared;  and  when  he 
came  into  his  father's  presence  he  was  all  cour- 
tesy and  ceremony.  So  perfect  was  his  behavior 

251 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

that  I  began  to  breathe  freer  —  till  I  saw  that 
the  Sultan  only  grew  the  more  possessed  with  a 
kind  of  cold  fury.  Then  1  knew  that  nothing 
would  avail.  To  excuse  his  conduct  of  the  after- 
noon, he  ruthlessly  tore  at  the  curtain  of  life: 
he  made  everything  which  was  sacred  and  un- 
uttered  in  the  boy's  mind  an  ugly  orgy  of  vice. 
At  last  he  even  began  to  use  phrases  degrad- 
ing to  the  boy's  mother — " 

"Before  you?"  Lionel  cried. 

"  I  was  not  present  —  but  I  heard.  Baya- 
zet  had  endured  everything  up  to  that.  Then 
he  raised  his  hand  and  struck  the  Sultan  on  the 
mouth." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"YANGIN!" 

IN  the  dark  the  two  men  stood  speechless, 
after  Lala  Sheddin's  fateful  words.  The  night 
itself  seemed  to  hold  its  breath  and  hearken. 
Lionel's  thoughts  flew  to  the  woman  who, 
more  than  he,  more  than  Lala  Sheddin,  would 
suffer. 

"And  she  —  does  she  know?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  just  come  from  her." 

Again  there  fell  silence,  a  dry,  lifeless  silence, 
broken  huskily  by  the  words  of  the  eunuch :  — 

"  In  all  my  planning  I  did  not  foresee  such  a 
possibility  as  this." 

"But  is  there  no  chance  —  no  hope  that  the 
Sultan  may  relent?"  Lionel  persisted.  "From 
the  pride  he  has  felt  in  the  boy,  may  he  not  con- 
sider some  lesser  punishment?  Surely,  his  fear 
of  him  cannot  be  strong  enough  to  make  him 
wish  for  Bayazet's  death,  in  cold  blood." 

"You  do  not  know  the  history  of  the  rulers 
of  Islam.  They  do  not  change  their  minds  when 

253 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

once  fear  has  sprouted.  It  was  even  so  with 
Solyman  the  Magnificent.  He  had  a  son  who 
was  his  greatest  joy;  but  when  Khourrem,  the 
Russian  favorite,  —  the  one  you  Europeans 
call  Roxalana,  —  roused  the  suspicions  of  the 
Sultan  against  his  son,  all  the  love  of  the  father 
was  burned  to  ashes.  At  the  time  Solyman  was 
preparing  for  his  second  war  against'  Persia.  He 
started  for  Asia  Minor  and  sent  for  his  son. 
Prince  Mustapha  arrived  at  the  tent  alone, 
thinking  to  have  an  audience  with  his  father. 
Instead,  he  was  received  by  seven  mutes,  who 
sprang  at  him  with  the  fatal  bowstring.  Musta- 
pha was  strong  and  agile.  He  made  a  tremen- 
dous resistance,  calling  upon  his  father  for 
mercy.  Solyman  was  in  the  inner  division  of 
the  tent,  and  so  impatient  was  he  to  make  an 
end  to  the  son  he  feared  that  he  rushed  in  and 
urged  the  mutes  on  to  finish  the  strangling. 
Do  you  think,  if  Solyman  the  Magnificent  had 
his  sons  killed,  one  after  the  other,  because 
of  fear,  that  it  would  be  possible  to  move  a 
man  of  my  master's  caliber  to  mercy?" 

"Have  you  tried?" 

Lala  Sheddin  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Have  I 
254 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

tried!  /  clamored  for  the  boy's  death —  cried 
out  that  it  must  be  lingering  and  hard.  I  have 
enemies  in  the  palace.  Such  an  opportunity  for 
my  downfall  they  would  have  grasped  only  too 
eagerly  had  I  not  been  the  first  to  hound  him 
whom  my  master  hated." 

"You  have  no  plan,  then?" 

"Five  days'  start  of  death  only.  Bayazet  is 
to  die  by  starvation,  tantalized  by  the  sight 
of  food  that  he  cannot  reach.  Thus  may  my 
master  gloat  over  his  dying.  That  is  all  the 
plan  I  have :  we  know  Bayazet  can  fast  so  long. 
How  I  now  bless  Kizatesh  Sultana  for  that 
foolish  test  of  hers !" 

"Where  is  he  imprisoned?" 

"  In  the  room  next  his  father's,  and  the  father 
holds  the  key." 

"You  have  no  other  key  to  the  room?  There 
is  no  secret  passage  leading  to  it?" 

The  eunuch  shook  his  head. 

"You  could  not  smuggle  in  a  locksmith  to 
make  a  key?"  Lionel  persisted. 

"  What  mad  ideas  are  in  your  brain !  You 
do  not  know  the  genius  my  master  has  for  sus- 
picion." 

255 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

"Could  Anton  Effendi  come  without  arous- 
ing suspicion?" 

"Anton  Effendi!  What  for?" 

"He  can  make  a  key  to  that  lock." 

"My  boy,  have  you  gone  mad?  Anton  Ef- 
fendi is  a  very  clever  man,  —  a  statesman,  who 
can  cook,  —  but  he  is  not  a  locksmith." 

With  the  speed  of  thought  Lionel  decided 
that  the  occasion  warranted  breaking  his 
promise  to  the  little  Greek  not  to  betray  his 
secret.  Succinctly  he  told  the  eunuch  of  the 
time  when  he  and  Anton  Effendi  had  left  the 
place  at  night  to  visit  the  ramparts  of  old 
Byzantium,  and  of  the  Greek's  mechanical 
talents  which  rendered  this  possible. 

Lala  Sheddin  listened  without  interrupting. 

"And  to  think  I  should  never  even  have  sus- 
pected this,"  he  murmured,  his  chagrin  mani- 
fest. "Well,  go  to  him.  Find  out  if  he  will  risk 
his  neck  to  help  us;  tell  him  Kizatesh  Sultana 
is  of  pure  Cretan  blood.  That  will  have  more 
weight  with  him  than  any  amount  of  abstract 
mercy,  or  justice,  —  a  pure  Cretan,  remember." 

"I  will  go  at  once." 

"No.  The  dawn  is  already  beginning  to 
256 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

break.  It  will  arouse  suspicion  if  you  go  at  this 
hour,  and  there  must  be  nothing  unusual  in 
your  actions  to-day.  To-night,  after  all  are 
asleep,  go  to  him." 

At  last  the  day  was  at  an  end,  the  first  ter- 
rible day  of  Bayazet's  imprisonment.  Lionel 
was  waiting  for  the  hour  when  he  might  go  to 
Anton  Effendi.  Of  a  sudden  all  his  muscles 
stiffened.  What  was  the  noise  upstairs  in  his 
sleeping-chamber?  It  was  like  a  footfall  —  as 
if  some  one,  or  something,  had  jumped  through 
the  window.  Now  it  was  moving,  so  lightly  that 
had  his  senses  not  been  keyed  up  to  almost  super- 
human intensity  he  would  not  have  heard  it. 

He  rose,  moved  softly  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  stood,  tense,  alert,  expecting  he 
knew  not  what.  And  then,  the  door  of  his  room 
opened,  and  bathed  in  the  moonlight,  which 
streamed  in  through  his  window,  he  saw 
Kizatesh  Sultana. 

Slowly,  like  a  vision,  she  came  down  the 

stairs,  until  they  stood  facing  each  other,  in  the 

mysterious    light,   filtering   in   from   outside. 

Neither  spoke.    He  had  seen  her  only  once, 

257 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

five  years  before,  —  and  impossible  though  it 
was  that  she,  the  guarded  captive  of  the  Sultan, 
should  be  here,  he  had  not  an  instant's  doubt 
of  her  identity.  But  hardly  had  the  joy  of  be- 
holding her  leaped  up  in  his  heart,  before  it  was 
followed  by  the  fear  for  the  terrible  risk  she  was 
running.  The  rush  of  feeling  which  overpow- 
ered him  held  him  speechless. 

In  her  dark  eyes,  on  her  slender  face,  there 
was  no  fear :  anxiety,  perhaps,  but  if  there  was 
anxiety,  it  seemed  not  to  be  for  any  possible 
danger  for  herself;  rather  it  was  as  if  she  sought 
in  his  countenance  a  reassurance  for  some  hope 
with  regard  to  him. 

At  last  he  spoke:  "How  can  you  run  such 
risks?"  The  sentence  was  commonplace  enough. 
It  was  the  tone,  the  accents  of  his  voice  which 
gave  it  all  he  felt. 

"Five  years  ago,  in  the  darkest  hour  of  my 
life,  I  prayed  to  Allah  above,  and  that  same 
day  you  came  to  the  palace.  Allah  sent  you. 
Now  it  is  a  still  darker  hour  for  me,  so  —  I 
come  to  you." 

"  But  the  risk  you  are  running,  if  you  should 
be  found  here,"  he  persisted. 

258 


"I  had  to  come  —  and  no  one  can  find  me 
here.  Allah's  trees  out  there  touch  my  room, 
and  touch  yours.  I  passed  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  came  to  you.  I  shall  go  back  as  I 
came.  Let  us  lose  no  time.  I  have  come  to  beg 
you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"I  will  do  anything  you  wish  me  to." 

"Will  you  take  my  son  away  with  you  to 
your  country?" 

"Is  Bayazet  free?" 

"He  is  still  a  prisoner,  but  the  Sultan  will 
give  him  to  me.  His  release  will  be  only  tem- 
porary; for  my  son  has  touched  the  holy  per- 
son of  the  Calif,  and  he  must  die.  That  is  the 
law.  For  a  day  —  I  believe  I  can  obtain  his 
freedom.  Will  you,  on  that  day,  steal  away 
with  him  to  your  own  country?  He  loves  you, 
and  I  —  I  give  him  to  you  —  to  be  yours." 

"You  wish  to  send  Bayazet  away  from  the 
palace  —  from  you  —  forever?" 

"Yes.  Like  the  mother  eagle,  I  must  tear  the 
nest,  and  for  home  give  him  the  heights  to  soar 
in.  To  the  heights,  to  Allah,  and  to  you  I  give 
my  son.  Take  him,  lord." 

"And  you?" 

259 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"I  do  not  matter,"  she  replied  softly. 

"You  do  matter!"  His  heart  cried  out  the 
words. 

A  wonder-light  came  into  her  eyes,  and  the 
soul  of  the  woman  leaped  out  to  the  soul  of  the 
man,  though  neither  spoke.  From  outside,  the 
soft  rays  of  the  moon  filtered  in,  and  the  essence 
of  the  flowers  commingled  with  a  faint,  pungent 
perfume  which  clung  caressingly  to  her.  For  a 
full  minute  the  two  were  lost  in  a  realm  of  en- 
chantment, until,  with  a  sigh,  Kizatesh  Sultana 
recalled  herself  out  of  this  other  realm  in  which 
present  and  past  and  future  seemed  all  distilled 
into  one  moment  so  intense  that  it  comprised 
all  eternity  in  itself. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  reluctant  return  to 
the  present.  "There  is  no  way  to  free  Bayazet, 
except  through  me.  For  him,  I  must  give  myself 
—  and  the  moments  are  precious.  When  he  is 
free,  you  will  take  him  away  with  you.  Promise 
me!" 

He  did  not  answer.  She  leaned  a  little  toward 
him,  urgently. 

A  loud  knocking  shattered  the  silence  of  the 
pavilion.  Instinctively  Lionel  took  a  step  for- 

260 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

ward,  and  as  instinctively  Kizatesh  Sultana 
shrank  toward  the  protection  of  his  arms. 

The  knocking  came  again,  and  a  voice  cried : 
"Effendi!  Effendi!  Come  out." 

" It  is  Lala  Sheddin,"  Lionel  whispered.  "Go, 
go  at  once!"  He  lifted  the  slender  form  of  the 
woman  in  his  arms,  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 
"Go!"  he  repeated,  as  he  put  her  down  on  the 
veranda.  "I  will  keep  Lala  Sheddin  engaged 
until  you  are  safe,  away." 

She  joined  her  slender  hands  pleadingly. 
"Tell  me  that  you  will  take  my  son  away  with 
you." 

The  knocking  at  the  door  came  again. 

"Please  give  me  the  answer  now,"  she  im- 
plored. 

The  knocking  grew  louder,  and  from  the  tones 
of  Lala  Sheddin's  voice  Lionel  knew  that  some- 
thing urgent  called. 

"If  what  you  ask  is  the  only  way  to  save 
him,  I  will  do  as  you  wish  —  only  go  now." 

Before  he  realized  what  she  was  about  to  do, 
she  had  taken  his  hand,  raised  it  to  her  lips,  and 
was  gone. 

With  some  delay  —  to  give  her  time  to 
261 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

effect  her  escape  —  Lionel  opened  the  door. 
Lala  Sheddin,  paler  and  more  agitated  than  the 
Englishman  had  ever  seen  him,  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

"Come  —  come  quickly!" 

The  words  were  not  out  of  his  mouth  before 
he  was  rushing  off  underneath  the  trees.  An 
eighth  of  a  mile  away  they  came  upon  Prince 
Murad,  crouching  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  trees. 
His  face  was  turned  upward,  his  nostrils  snuf- 
fing like  those  of  an  animal  on  the  trail  of  its 
prey,  and  his  eyes  roved  alertly  to  right  and  to 
left.  He  paid  no  attention  to  the  approach  of 
the  two  men.  He  was  muttering  to  himself:  — 

"Here  it  was!  Here  I  lost  it!  But  I  shall  find 
it;  it  cannot  escape  me.  And  then  I  shall  tear 
it  to  pieces,  and  drink  its  blood." 

In  spite  of  the  fair  mould  in  which  he  had 
been  cast,  the  young  man  did  not  seem  to  be  a 
human  being,  and  he  laughed  the  laugh  of  one 
who  has  sunk  to  a  plane  lower  than  that  of  the 
beasts. 

Lionel's  brain  worked  rapidly.  Kizatesh 
Sultana  was  moving  through  the  tree-tops  to- 
ward this  spot.  Her  progress  must  be  much 

262 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE  SULTAN 

slower  than  theirs  had  been,  yet  she  would  soon 
be  near.  He  fancied  even  now  that  he  heard  the 
rustling  of  leaves,  as  of  a  person  moving  through 
the  trees.  At  all  risks  Prince  Murad  must  be 
got  away  from  here. 

He  stepped  forward,  and  without  ceremony 
picked  up  the  puny  form  and  started  with  it 
rapidly  for  his  pavilion. 

After  the  youth's  first  struggle  of  resistance, 
Lionel  was  surprised  to  have  him  lie  quite  quiet 
and  contented  in  his  arms.  Even  after  reaching 
the  house,  and  after  Lala  Sheddin  had  struck 
a  light,  Prince  Murad  did  not  try  to  free  him- 
self. He  lay  still,  like  a  contented  baby,  his  face 
close  to  the  tutor's  breast,  snuffing  at  his 
clothes,  as  if  they  contained  a  perfume  that 
fascinated  him. 

,  For  a  few  seconds  Lala  Sheddin  watched  the 
strange  sight  with  his  keen,  small  eyes;  then 
he  began  an  extraordinary  performance.  He 
took  the  papers  from  the  waste-basket,  twisted 
them  up  into  wisps,  and  set  them  on  fire,  filling 
the  room  with  the  acrid  smell  of  burning  paper. 

With  astonishment  Lionel  watched  the  eu- 
nuch, his  attention  for  the  moment  distracted 

263 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

from  Prince  Murad,  who,  even  after  he  was  re- 
leased, continued  to  hover  around  the  English- 
man. 

"Why  are  you  doing  that?"  Lionel  asked. 

The  eunuch's  only  reply  was  to  approach  the 
Englishman  and  begin  to  rub  the  charred  paper 
over  his  coat.  At  this,  Prince  Murad  blazed 
into  sudden  passion,  and  struck  the  eunuch 
again  and  again  —  blows  which  Lala  Sheddin 
received  without  complaint  on  his  broad  chest. 

"Why  did  you  spoil  the  lovely  perfume?" 
the  prince  cried  shrilly.  "It  was  the  same  I 
scented  in  the  trees." 

Instinctively,  Lionel  stepped  forward  and 
held  out  his  arm  to  ward  off  the  blows  from  the 
unresisting  eunuch.  At  that  Prince  Murad's 
fury  turned  against  him,  and  he  aimed  a  savage 
blow  at  Lionel.  The  latter  evaded  it,  and  the 
prince,  losing  his  balance,  fell  to  the  floor.  In 
falling  he  struck  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  his 
nose  began  to  bleed  copiously. 

The  sight  of  his  own  blood  frightened  the 
young  man,  and  he  lay  still,  moaning  piteously. 
Lala  Sheddin  picked  him  up  and  laid  him  on 
a  couch.  Then  from  an  inner  pocket  he  pro- 

264 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

duced  a  small  silver  box  and,  opening  it,  took 
out  some  brown  leaves  from  it  which  he  begged 
the  prince  to  sniff  in  order  to  stop  the  bleeding. 
The  youth  complied,  and  in  a  minute  the  bleed- 
ing ceased,  his  sobs  grew  less,  and  he  lay  quite 
still  on  the  divan. 

Lala  Sheddin  watched  him  gradually  lose 
consciousness,  until  he  was  in  deep  slumber. 
"It  would  be  better,  perhaps,"  he  murmured, 
"if  I  let  you  sleep  on,  and  never  wake." 

There  was  something  in  the  tones  of  the 
eunuch  that  frightened  the  Englishman.  "What 
have  you  done?"  he  demanded. 

Lala  Sheddin  tapped  the  little  silver  box  in 
his  hand.  "The  East  has  ways  of  its  own  to  deal 
with  life,  my  friend.  These  leaves,  carefully 
used,  bring  sleep.  A  little  more,  tied  upon  the 
forehead,  and  the  sleep  becomes  never-ending." 

Sorrowfully  he  looked  down  upon  the  relaxed 
form.  The  eyebrows  were  contracted.  The 
mouth,  that  had  been  beautiful,  was  now  loose 
and  sensual,  and  the  lynx  that  had  once  attacked 
him  had  done  the  rest  to  mar  his  face. 

"Once  or  twice  before,"  Lala  Sheddin  went 
on,  "I  have  known  such  as  he.  They  are  more 

265 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

dangerous  than  the  wholly  mad.  When  he 
awakes,  he  will  remember  the  perfume;  he  will 
return  here  —  and  he  will  make  your  life  a  tor- 
ment. There  is  no  telling  what  harm  he  may 
not  do." 

For  a  time  Lala  Sheddin  became  lost  in 
thought;  then  deliberately  he  took  a  large 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  opened  the 
lid  of  his  silver  box. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Lionel  asked 
sternly. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  no  chances." 

Lionel  put  his  hand  on  the  eunuch's  arm 
authoritatively.  "You  cannot  do  that,"  he 
said. 

"There  are  times  when  a  worthless  life  must 
be  sacrificed  to  a  better  one.  Your  life  is  the 
better  one.  He  must  die." 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

Lala  Sheddin  shook  his  head  sadly.  "You  do 
not  know  —  you  have  not  seen  such  as  he  be- 
fore. I  saw  his  face  when  he  inhaled  that  per- 
fume from  your  coat.  He  will  remember.  You 
think  you  are  strong.  So  you  are  —  splendidly 
strong,  but  — " 

266 


The  Anglo-Saxon  interrupted. 

"You  must  not  kill  him.  He  may  not  re- 
member when  he  wakes  up.  If  he  does  —  if  it 
becomes  necessary —  I  will  ask  your  aid.  Not 


now." 


Lala  Sheddin  slowly  put  the  leaves  back  into 
the  box,  and  the  box  into  his  inner  pocket. 

"You  are  too  civilized.  To  save  a  vicious  and 
a  worthless  life  for  the  mere  sake  of  saving  life 
is  not  strong  —  it  is  sentimental."  Then,  sud- 
denly, he  demanded :  "Tell  me,  did  you  have 
time  to  speak  with  her?  " 

Lionel  was  dumbfounded.  "You  knew?"  he 
gasped. 

"Lionel  Effendi,  you  do  not  think  that  she 
would  have  taken  such  risks  without  telling 
me!  It  was  I  who  told  her  that  if  she  asked  you 
herself  I  felt  sure  that  you  would  agree  to  take 
her  boy  away  with  you." 

Lala  Sheddin  went  to  the  door  and  locked  it. 
Then  he  took  up  the  lighted  candle:  — 

"Let  us  go  upstairs.  Murad  is  only  lightly 
under  the  influence  of  the  narcotic,  and  he  is 
cunning  enough  to  pretend  still  to  be  uncon- 
scious after  he  awakes." 
267 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

When  the  two  men  were  seated  upstairs,  Lala 
Sheddin  went  on:  "Did  you  give  her  the  assur- 
ance she  craved?  Did  you  tell  her  you  would 
take  the  boy  away?" 

"How  does  she  expect  to  get  possession  of 
Bayazet?" 

"There  is  only  one  way:  for  him  she  must 
give  herself.  She  will  do  this,  and  then  she  will 
put  herself  to  sleep  forever,  knowing  that  the 
boy  is  safe  with  you." 

The  Englishman  made  no  comment,  and  a 
tense  silence  followed.  Presently  the  eunuch 
leaned  forward  and  touched  Lionel's  arm. 

"It  will  not  be  difficult,  and  you  will  run  no 
risk.  The  night  that  he  is  free  I  will  smuggle 
the  boy  here.  A  boat  from  Manlove  Pasha's 
yacht  will  come  to  the  shore.  You  will  step  into 
it  —  and  the  palace,  and  all  that  it  has  been, 
will  melt  out  of  your  life." 

There  followed  a  pause,  broken  by  Lala 
Sheddin  adding  persuasively:  "The  secret  com- 
partment on  the  yacht  is  already  prepared.  No 
one  will  be  able  to  find  you  —  you  see,  it  will 
not  be  difficult.  And  in  your  own  country  you 
will  resume  your  own  name,  and  no  one  will 

268 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

identify  you  with  the  imperial  tutor  who  for 
five  years  was  here." 

Lionel  was  gazing  out  under  the  trees  into 
the  deep  shadows,  and  spoke  no  word.  Lala 
Sheddin  waited  until  even  his  patience  was 
worn  out. 

"She  has  been  dreaming  this  dream  for  the 
last  five  years,  and  not  once  did  she  think  that 
you  would  fail  her." 

The  Englishman  shook  himself,  as  if  to 
awaken  from  a  trance.  He  rose  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  room;  then  he  stopped  in  front  of 
Lala  Sheddin. 

"I  cannot  do  it,"  he  said  in  a  strained  voice. 

"You  mean  that  you  refuse  to  help  her?" 
the  eunuch  asked. 

"Can't  you  see?  Can't  you  understand?" 
Lionel  burst  forth.  "How  can  I  leave  her  to 
such  a  fate  —  even  to  save  her  son?" 

Lala  Sheddin  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  his 
arm  around  Lionel's  shoulders. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  deep  satisfac- 
tion. "Ah!  That  is  what  I  longed  to  hear. 
While  she  was  making  her  plan,  I  was  making 
mine.  Hers  was  to  give  you  Bayazet  and  die. 
269 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

Mine  was  to  save  them  both.   Now  that  you 
have  spoken  — " 

From  outside  the  door  came  a  slight  scratch- 
ing sound.  In  an  instant  both  men  had  sprung 
to  the  door  and  opened  it,  and  there  crouched 
Prince  Murad,  crawling  like  a  reptile  on  the 
ground,  following  the  scent  of  Kizatesh  Sul- 
tana's perfume. 

"I  feared  this,"  the  eunuch  said  hoarsely. 
"He  would  follow  her  through  the  trees  to  her 
rooms.  Take  him  downstairs,  quick.  I  will  join 
you  in  a  minute." 

The  Englishman  did  as  he  was  ordered,  half- 
carrying,  half-dragging  Prince  Murad  down- 
stairs. Lala  Sheddin,  left  alone,  acted  quickly. 
With  a  candle  in  each  hand,  he  moved  swiftly 
from  curtain  to  curtain,  setting  them  on  fire 
all  over  the  upper  floor.  Then  he  opened  the 
door  and  placed  a  chair  in  the  doorway,  in 
order  that  there  might  be  a  good  draft  of  air, 
and  then  ran  down  to  the  other  two. 

"We  must  save  ourselves  —  the  house  is  on 
fire!"  he  shouted. 

Already  the  rush  of  the  flames  could  be  heard, 
and  Prince  Murad  was  paralyzed  with  fear. 

270 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Come,  my  prince,  come  with  me!  You"  — 
to  Lionel  —  "  stay  behind  and  save  what  you 
can."  Murad  was  now  shrieking  and  trembling. 
In  an  undertone,  to  the  Englishman,  Lala 
Sheddin  added :  "  Set  everything  on  fire  down 
here,  and  then  go  to  the  cook's  pavilion.  Let 
no  one  except  him  see  you.  Every  one  must  be- 
lieve that  you  have  been  burned  alive.  Fate  is 
with  us  to-night." 

The  eunuch  took  hold  of  the  arm  of  the  dis- 
tracted prince.  "Come,  I  will  save  you,"  he 
coaxed. 

The  young  man  threw  himself  into  the  arms 
of  the  eunuch,  and  was  borne  away. 

Rapidly  Lionel  did  as  he  had  been  ordered, 
setting  fire  to  everything  inflammable  on  the 
ground  floor.  When  in  twenty  different  places 
the  flames  were  burning  joyously,  he  took  one 
last  look  at  the  rooms  where  he  had  spent  the 
last  five  years  of  his  life  —  the  years  of  his  re- 
generation. His  heart  contracted  with  regret 
at  the  thought  that  never  again  should  he  see 
the  pavilion,  but  he  did  not  stop  for  any  senti- 
mentalizing. He  stepped  out  and  locked  the 
door,  in  order  that  the  greedy  flames  might  not 

271 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

easily  be  disturbed  at  their  feast,  and  then 
cautiously  started  for  the  cook's  abode. 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  a  sudden  light 
flooded  the  sky,  and  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 
he  could  even  hear  the  crackling  which  told 
him  that  all  that  had  been  his  was  being  re- 
duced to  ashes,  and  along  with  it  a  man  called 
Burton  Adams  —  a  man  for  whom  he  enter- 
tained considerable  respect.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  witnessing  his  own  funeral  pyre; 
and  yet  through  it  all  a  secret  joy  possessed  him. 
He  had  seen  her!  He  had  spoken  with  her!  He 
had  looked  into  her  dark  eyes,  and  what  he  had 
seen  there  had  filled  him  with  exultation.  She 
was  to  be  saved,  and  he  was  to  take  her  away 
to  free  England.  He  did  not  know  how,  but 
Lala  Sheddin  had  said  that  the  Fates  were  with 
them  that  night,  and  he  had  faith  in  this  shrewd 
man's  resources. 

The  sound  of  running  steps  came  to  his  ears, 
and  the  cry  of  "Yangin!"  (fire),  and  he  hid 
himself  in  a  thicket  of  trees.  His  journey  to 
Anton  Effendi's  pavilion  was  not  easy.  Since 
he  was  to  be  dead  in  the  morning,  it  was  very 
important  that  no  one  should  see  him  this  night. 

272 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE  SULTAN 

Finally,  he  reached  the  thick  hedge  of  cypresses 
which  surrounded  the  Greek's  abode.  He 
wormed  his  way  within  it,  and  listened.  The 
excitement  of  the  fire  had  evidently  not  reached 
here.  There  was  no  sign  of  life.  He  waited  until 
he  was  absolutely  certain  that  no  one  stirred; 
then  he  made  his  way  to  the  house,  found  a 
window  that  was  open,  and  entered.  He  knew 
where  Anton  Effendi's  room  was,  and  groped 
his  way  to  it.  The  door  was  unlocked,  and  he 
opened  it,  at  the  same  time  speaking  Anton 
Effendi's  name.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  shot 
before  he  could  make  himself  known. 

There  came  no  reply,  even  after  he  had 
spoken  again.  Was  the  Greek,  perhaps,  away 
from  home?  This  would  be  disastrous,  indeed. 
He  stepped  to  the  bed,  and  found  him  there,  a 
heavy  sleeper.  At  the  third  shake  he  was  roused. 

"Who  is  there?"  he  called  sharply. 

"Hush!  It  is  I." 

"Upon  my  word!"  the  Greek  exclaimed. 
"What  has  happened?"  He  sat  up  in  bed,  in 
his  fluffy,  silk  pajamas. 

"My  pavilion  is  on  fire,  and  with  it  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  burning  up." 

273 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Ah!"  The  Greek's  quick  mind  was  already 
threading  its  way  through  a  fabric  of  thought. 
"Wait  a  moment,  my  handsome  young  friend." 
He  raised  a  be  jeweled  finger  to  impose  silence. 
"To-night  you  die  —  yet  you  live  here,  and 
wait.  When  you  go  —  do  you  go  alone  ? " 

Lionel  made  no  reply  to  this. 

"It  is  as  I  thought,"  the  Greek  continued, 
with  satisfaction,  tapping  his  own  breast  to 
indicate  the  source  of  wisdom.  "You  are  in 
love  —  I  knew  it  all  along  —  and  in  love  as  it 
comes  once  in  a  lifetime  —  to  one  man  in  a 
million.  Am  I  right?" 

"Anton  Effendi  —  will  you  help  me?"  the 
Englishman  asked. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"iN  THE   THICK   OF   IT" 

SEATED  on  the  edge  of  the  Greek's  bed  Lionel 
told  him  in  his  quiet  way  the  whole  story  of 
Kizatesh  Sultana.  After  he  had  finished,  he 
asked  again :  — 

"Now  that  you  know  everything,  will  you 
help  us,  Anton  Effendi?" 

The  Greek  nodded.  For  the  moment  he 
could  not  speak.  His  sentimental  nature  had 
flamed  into  such  enthusiasm  that  it  choked  his 
utterance. 

"Help  you!"  he  burst  forth  finally:  "I  shall 
do  more  —  I  shall  dower  her.  My  money  be- 
longs to  Greece  —  but  she  is  Greece — the 
noblest  part  —  the  ever-rising,  ever-struggling 
Crete.  I  shall  give  her  twenty  thousand  pounds. 
But  now,  my  friend,  you  must  sleep.  Your 
strength  and  nerves  must  be  conserved.  It  will 
not  be  as  easy  to  get  the  Sultan's  wife  and  son 
out  of  the  palace  as  if  they  were  two  sacks  of 
meal.  Have  you  any  outside  assistance?" 

275 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Manlove  Pasha  and  a  Turkish  carrier  whom 
I  helped  once,  and  who  has  promised  to  help 
me  out  of  any  difficulty";  and  Lionel  told  the 
Greek  of  his  meeting  with  Kipruli  Ali  on  the 
day  of  his  arrival  in  Turkey;  and  also  about  the 
secret  compartment  which  had  been  prepared 
on  the  yacht. 

"We  know  little  of  the  unseen  forces,"  Anton 
Effendi  commented;  "yet  can  we  doubt  that 
from  the  beginning  you  have  played  Fate's 
game,  and  that  now  all  the  combinations  have 
culminated?  Ah,  there  is  a  Supreme  Power 
that  directs  our  faltering  efforts.  Why  should 
you  have  come  to  Turkey  and  become  the  im- 
perial tutor  —  the  most  unlikely  destiny  one 
could  have  imagined  for  you?  Why  should  I, 
the  man  of  letters,  of  statecraft,  —  of  puddings, 
—  why  should  I  possess  this  queer  mechanical 
streak?  Why  should  Kipruli  Ali,  and  Manlove 
Pasha,  and  you,  —  from  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth,  —  have  chanced  to  come  together  on 
that  day?  Ah,  I  tell  you — " 

Anton  Eifendi's  face  was  alight,  his  delicate 
hands  were  gesturing  passionately:  he  was  evi- 
dently well  launched  on  one  of  his  great  dis- 

276 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

sertations,  when  suddenly  he  stopped,  laugh- 
ing:— 

"My  besetting  sin!  If  Nero  fiddled  while 
Rome  burned,  I  could  philosophize  while  the 
world  crumbled  beneath  me.  John  Chrysostom 
—  there  was  the  happiest  man  who  ever  lived ! 
He  could  talk  always —  and  always  be  listened 
to.  But  I  am  not  he,  and  I  must  see  to  your 
comfort  and  safety." 

He  rose  from  his  bed,  and,  wrapping  his 
diminutive  figure  in  a  most  elaborate  dressing- 
gown,  unlocked  the  door  which  led  into  a  small 
room  next  his  bedroom.  It  was  his  secret 
locksmith  shop. 

"This  must  be  transformed  into  your  apart- 
ment until  the  time  comes  for  your  escape." 

Deftly  he  made  it  ready,  moving  benches  and 
tools  to  one  side  of  the  room,  and  bringing  in 
rugs  and  pillows. 

"During  my  absence  you  will  have  to  remain 
in  here.  When  I  am  in  my  room  you  may  come 
into  it  and  exercise  your  young  limbs  a  bit.  We 
must  try  to  keep  you  in  condition;  for  your 
English  machinery  needs  constant  use  to  be 
kept  in  order.  You  are  a  much  handicapped 

277 


1\HE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

race,  and  yet  you  are  proud  of  this  terrible  need 
of  exercise."  He  shook  his  head  in  perplexity. 
"I  have  tried  to  understand  it,  but  I  cannot. 
/  don't  need  it:  my  mind  exercises,  and  that  is 
enough.  I  will  leave  you  to  sleep  now,  and  lock 
you  in.  We  must  take  no  chances  —  nor  forget 
that  you  are  a  dead  man." 

Lionel  slept  soundly  until  Anton  Effendi  un- 
locked the  door  in  the  morning. 

"Come!"  the  Greek  said.  "Lala  Sheddin  is 
waiting  to  see  you." 

The  eunuch  greeted  Lionel  with  a  smile. 
"There  is  sad  news  in  the  palace.  Last  night 
the  pavilion  of  the  English  tutor  was  burned, 
and  with  it  the  young  Englishman  himself.  I 
found  his  body,  and  pulled  it  out  of  the  ashes 
with  my  own  hands.  And  so  burned  was  it  that 
it  crumbled  to  pieces.  I  gathered  the  bones, 
black  and  charred,  and  put  them  into  a  basket, 
and  now  I  am  waiting  for  Manlove  Pasha,  who 
was  a  friend  of  the  young  man,  and  to  whom  I 
have  sent  word.  Anton  Effendi  here  is  coming 
to  the  palace  to  see  my  master,  who  is  some- 
what upset  over  the  catastrophe.  Death  al- 
ways affects  the  Sultan  unpleasantly  —  unless 

278 


it  be  the  death  of  some  one  he  prefers  to  have 
dead." 

"Kizatesh  Sultana  does  not  think — ?" 
Lionel  was  beginning. 

The  eunuch  waved  a  hand.  "  I  have  seen  her. 
She  is  sewing  all  her  jewelry  in  a  belt." 

"She  need  not  think  of  that,"  Lionel  pro- 
tested. 

"She  must,  because  Bayazet  is  an  imperial 
prince,  and  it  is  right  that  he  should  be  edu- 
cated accordingly." 

"Is  she  ready  to — " 

"You  can  rely  on  her  courage." 

"What  are  your  plans?" 

"They  will  depend  on  what  luck  Anton 
Effendi  has  this  morning,  while  he  is  waiting  for 
the  Sultan  to  appear.  Also  on  how  easily  Man- 
love  Pasha  can  be  whipped  into  line.  If  Anton 
Effendi  succeeds,  I  shall  persuade  my  imperial 
master  that  Kizatesh  Sultana  has  cast  a  spell 
upon  him,  which  may  be  broken  by  starving 
her  to  death.  And  what  more  delicate  means 
than  by  putting  her  in  the  same  room  with  her 
boy,  that  each  may  be  witness  of  the  suffering 
of  the  other." 

279. 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

"Do  you  believe  that  you  can  manage  that?" 
both  men  asked  at  once. 

"My  master  is  in  a  mood  which  makes  him 
clay  in  my  hands,  for  any  deed  of  evil.  Good- 
bye, now;  and  Anton  Effendi,  after  you  have  fed 
our  young  friend  here,  come  up  to  the  palace." 

With  a  number  of  the  courtiers  and  several 
of  the  princes  Lala  Sheddin  met  Manlove  Pasha 
and  led  him  to  the  embers  of  the  pavilion.  There 
the  eunuch  graphically  described  the  fire  and 
the  finding  of  the  tutor's  bones. 

In  the  unemotional  English  way  Manlove  lis- 
tened to  him,  and  only  the  pallor  and  the  set 
lines  of  his  face  betrayed  to  those  present  how 
hard  the  news  was  for  him  to  bear.  His  figure 
seemed  to  lose  its  athletic  elasticity  and  to  grow 
old  before  their  eyes,  and  Lala  Sheddin,  himself 
overpowered  by  the  sad  occasion,  whispered  to 
the  company  to  go,  and  leave  Manlove  Pasha 
alone.  The  eunuch  followed  the  silently  re- 
treating men  to  the  palace.  Only  there  did 
he  say:  "I  had  better  go  back  and  see  what 
arrangements  Manlove  Pasha  wishes  to  make 
about  the  funeral." 

280 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

He  found  the  Englishman  leaning  against  a 
tree,  and  staring  before  him  with  unseeing  eyes. 
The  eunuch  approached  and  stood  close  beside 
the  stricken  man,  and  in  an  ordinary  conversa- 
tional tone  inquired :  — 

"You  could  anchor  your  yacht  opposite  the 
shore  here,  could  you  not?" 

Manlove  Pasha  looked  up  quickly. 

"Don't  alter  your  attitude,"  the  eunuch 
went  on  in  an  even  tone.  "Remain  mournful 
and  sad.  We  know  the  stars  are  always  in  the 
sky,  though  they  may  be  invisible  to  us,  —  and 
in  the  palace  there  are  always  eyes  to  spy." 

Manlove  Pasha  passed  his  hand  over  his 
forehead.  "Is  Lionel  — "  He  did  not  finish  the 
sentence. 

"Burton  Adams  is  dead,"  the  eunuch  volun- 
teered. "Lionel  Deguerney —  I  know  no  such 
person." 

In  spite  of  the  warning  he  had  received,  Man- 
love  grasped  the  eunuch's  arm. 

"Why  did  you  not  prepare  me?  Why  did  you 
take  me  through  this  misery?" 

"I  thought  it  necessary.  If  there  was  the 
slightest  doubt  in  the  minds  of  any  —  your 
281 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE  SULTAN 

grief  has  dispelled  it.  Not  for  gold  could  I  have 
bought  such  acting.  Moreover,  I  had  to  think 
of  your  safety.  With  the  tutor  dead,  you  will 
hardly  be  connected  with  the  events  which  are 
to  follow.  Your  papers  will  be  clear,  and  you 
will  sail  from  here  to  England  with  the  remains 
of  the  young  man." 

"May  I  inquire  who  else  is  to  sail  on  my 
yacht  with  the  remains  of  the  young  man?" 

"Only  a  woman  and  a  child." 

Manlove's  first  impulse  was  to  strike  the 
eunuch.  He  controlled  himself,  and  rigidly 
remarked:  — 

"I  had  been  given  to  understand  that  in 
this  case  there  was  no  intrigue  —  no  woman. 
Now  it  appears  there  is  a  woman  —  and  a 
child." 

"Yes,"  the  eunuch  absented  blandly,  "and 
the  woman  is  one  of  the  Sultan's  wives." 

To  be  on  the  safe  side  the  Englishman  thrust 
his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  The  eunuch 
caught  the  gleam  in  his  eyes,  and  added  in  a 
cautioning  manner:  — 

"Yes,  keep  your  hands  in  your  pockets  — 
and  remember  that  you  are  a  bereaved  man, 

282 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

and  that  Lionel  is  still  within  the  palace  en- 
closure." 

During  the  pause  that  followed,  Manlove 
Pasha  mastered  his  indignation,  and  when  he 
spoke  it  was  in  his  ordinary  quiet  voice :  — 

"And  now,  just  what  do  you  expect  of 
me?" 

"To  sit  on  your  yacht  and  risk  nothing.  If 
we,  down  here,  succeed,  some  night  we  shall 
bring  our  cargo  to  you :  you  will  store  it  in  your 
secret  compartment,  and  by  sunrise  you  will 
sail  away  for  England." 

"By  'we,'  whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Lionel  Effendi,  Anton  Effendi,  and  myself." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  confided 
in  that  contemptible  little  Greek,  who  is  hardly 
a  man?" 

"Quite  so!  He  is  hardly  a  man.  I  am  —  what 
I  am  —  yet  we  are  both  risking  our  lives  for 
others  —  my  perfect  man,  Manlove  Pasha!" 

The  Englishman  accepted  the  rebuke.  "What 
are  your  plans — tell  them  to  me." 

"We  hope  somehow  to  get  into  the  room  next 
the  Sultan's  own,  and  to  rescue  a  woman  and  a 
child  whom  he  is  starving  to  death.  We  hope 

283 


tHE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

to  get  them  to  the  shore  and  then  to  your 
yacht  —  if  nothing  goes  wrong." 

"And  you  expect  me  to  sit  calmly  on  my 
yacht  and  wait  for  all  this  to  happen?"  Man- 
love  demanded. 

"No,"  Lala  Sheddin  corrected.  "I  expect 
you  to  be  right  with  us  in  the  thick  of  the 
danger." 

"But  a  minute  ago  you  said  — " 

"That  was  the  quickest  way  to  show  you 
where  your  place  was." 

"Damn  you,  man!"  Manlove  blurted  out. 

"Damn,  if  you  like,  but  watch  Anton  Ef- 
fendi,  and  note  when  he  takes  to  using  a  red 
silk  pocket  handkerchief  —  affording  the  Eu- 
ropean diplomats  new  proofs  of  what  a  con- 
temptible little  man  he  is.  Anton  Effendi  has 
found  it  convenient  all  these  years  to  be  an 
object  for  laughter.  This  new  eccentricity  will 
tell  you  to  anchor  your  yacht  as  near  the  shore 
here  as  you  can  without  exciting  suspicion. 
You  understand  now  why  I  have  always  insisted 
that  you  should  come  in  a  boat  when  you 
wished  to  visit  Lionel  Effendi.  If  you  have  to 
get  away  in  a  hurry,  you  will  know  your  way. 

284 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

Go  now  —  and  don't  forget  that  you  are  a  sor- 
row-stricken man.  Get  your  ship's  papers  in 
order.  It  will  be  natural  for  you  to  arrange 
about  a  funeral  service  with  the  English  clergy- 
man. That  will  account  for  the  delay  in  your 
sailing." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"AT   LEAST   LET  ME    DIE    LIKE   A  MAN" 

ANTON  EFFENDI  was  waiting  in  the  Sultan's 
own  room,  whither  he  had  been  summoned,  for 
his  august  master  to  return.  He  was  restless, 
and  paced  up  and  down,  stopping  here  and 
there  to  examine  one  object  after  another.  His 
fingers  constantly  played  with  his  string  of 
beads,  such  as  most  Turks  and  Greeks  of  Con- 
stantinople carry  as  habitually  as  an  English- 
man carries  a  walking-stick.  To  both  they  are 
companions :  they  occupy  the  hands,  and  soothe 
the  nerves. 

If,  somewhere,  invisible  to  the  little  Greek, 
a  spy  was  watching  him,  he  acted  for  the  spy's 
benefit  with  great  art.  Of  course,  every  one 
knew  that  Anton  Effendi  was  queer.  On  this 
day  it  was  in  the  handling  of  his  beads  that  his 
queerness  showed.  They  were  a  lustrous  string, 
yellow,  like  translucent  wax,  and  worth  a  small 
fortune;  yet  the  Greek  treated  them  petu- 
lantly. He  swung  them  back  and  forth,  and 

286 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

tossed  them  into  the  air;  twice  he  threw  them 
from  him  on  a  couch;  once  he  twisted  them 
around  a  gold  water  pitcher,  standing  back  and 
surveying  the  effect  they  made.  Again,  he 
looped  them  over  the  knob  of  the  door  leading 
into  the  next  room.  Here  they  seemed  to  get 
caught,  and  with  an  ejaculation  of  impatience 
he  fumbled  with  them  until  he  got  them  loose 
again. 

He  continued  pacing  up  and  down  until  the 
Sultan  arrived.  As  the  Padishah  entered 
through  the  doorway,  Anton  Effendi  stood  rigid, 
his  head  bowed,  waiting  for  the  Asiatic  master 
of  his  country  to  give  him  leave  to  salute  him. 

Arrogantly  the  Sultan  laughed,  and  did  not 
salute.  He  was  in  a  bad  mood. 

"I  want  you  to  invent  some  dishes  with  so 
entrancing  an  odor  that  the  smell  of  them  will 
drive  to  madness  those  who  cannot  taste 
them,"  he  said  abruptly.  "That  is  all.  Go!" 

The  Greek  returned  to  his  pavilion.  He  went 
to  his  room,  locked  his  door,  and  unlocked  the 
one  which  held  Lionel  prisoner.  Silently  he 
took  from  his  pocket  his  beads,  and  showed 
them  one  by  one  to  the  Englishman.  At  the 

287 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

fifth  he  stopped.  It  was  a  perfect  match  in  color 
to  the  others,  but  instead  of  being  round,  it  was 
flattened,  and  on  it  was  the  imprint  of  a  key- 
hole. 

Lionel  made  a  motion  to  take  it.  The  Greek 
drew  it  back. 

"It  would  not  fetch  one  hundredth  the  price 
of  the  others,  in  the  bazaar,"  he  said,  "yet  it 
is  too  precious  to  be  touched  —  and  all  the 
wealth  of  the  Sultan  could  not  compensate  you 
for  the  loss  of  this  bead."  He  examined  it  mi- 
nutely. "It  is  a  good  impression,"  he  added 
with  satisfaction. 

"Will  it  take  you  long  to  make  the  key?" 
Lionel  asked  eagerly. 

"Life  is  a  humorist,"  the  Greek  replied,  dis- 
regarding the  question.  "Of  all  the  heroes  of 
ancient  Greece,  the  one  I  least  care  for  is  wily 
Ulysses;  yet  he  is  the  one  with  whom  I  have 
kinship.  He  comes  to  me  in  my  hours  of  need 
and  becomes  the  pilot  of  my  soul.  Kismet!  As 
I  said  before,  Life  is  a  humorist." 

From  the  moment  Bayazet  had  struck  his 
father  he  knew  that  he  must  die.  He  had  no 

288 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

thought  of  trying  to  escape  his  fate:  his  only 
anxiety  was  that  he  should  die  like  a  man,  with- 
out a  whimper,  —  should  die  as  his  mother  — - 
as  Addam — would  wish  him  to  die.  Upon  this 
his  mind  fixed  itself,  and  gradually  he  brought 
himself  into  a  state  of  exaltation,  where  he  felt 
neither  hunger  nor  thirst,  where  he  could  gaze 
upon  the  food  displayed  beyond  his  reach  as 
if  it  were  not  there.  He  was  like  a  young  martyr, 
and  the  spirit  lifted  him  above  and  beyond  the 
body. 

1  On  the  third  day  of  his  imprisonment  the 
door  of  his  room  opened  and  his  mother  came 
in.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  gladness; 
then  stopped  and  saluted  her  ceremoniously, 
touching  with  his  finger-tips  the  floor,  his  knee, 
his  heart,  and  his  lips. 

The  sinister  laugh  of  the  Sultan  broke  upon 
his  ears. 

"Mindful  of  your  comfort,  traitor  son,  I  have 
brought  you  a  companion  to  share  in  your 
banquets." 

Bayazet  bowed  low  before  his  father,  but 
without  sign  of  fear,  or  any  attempt  to  ingrati- 
ate himself  with  him.  His  aloofness,  and  the  fact 

289 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

that  he  did  not  appear  miserable,  in  spite  of  the 
savory  dishes  sent  to  tantalize  him,  maddened 
the  Sultan.  He  took  an  angry  step  toward 
his  son;  then  halted  and  went  no  nearer. 
The  memory  of  the  only  blow  he  had  ever  re- 
ceived in  his  life  stayed  him.  From  the  door- 
way he  taunted  Bayazet  with  the  fate  in  store 
for  him  and  his  mother.  He  even  descended  to 
minute  descriptions  of  food  which  he  should 
never  taste  again,  in  his  effort  to  obtain  some 
sign  of  weakening  from  the  boy. 

Bayazet  watched  his  father,  his  eyes  shining 
with  a  light  that  gradually  silenced  the  Sultan, 
and  drove  him  from  the  room,  furious,  and 
conscious  of  defeat.  When  the  door  closed  be- 
hind the  monarch  and  left  the  two  prisoners 
alone,  Kizatesh  held  out  her  arms  to  her  son. 
She  had  expected  to  find  him  weak,  ready  to  cry 
on  her  bosom,  and  to  seek  consolation  from  her 
heart.  Instead,  she  found  him  assuming  that 
it  was  his  place  to  be  the  comforter.  A  fierce 
pride  took  possession  of  Kizatesh  Sultana  at 
the  fortitude  of  her  boy,  a  pride  which  lifted 
her,  too,  above  hunger  and  thirst,  in  the  long 
hours  that  followed.  And  both  of  them  now  had 

290 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

a  hope  to  buoy  them  up  —  a  hope  based  on  the 
knowledge  that  their  friends  outside  were  doing 
all  that  men  could  do  to  effect  their  rescue.  It 
was  these  latter  who  really  suffered  the  most. 
Every  mouthful  that  Lionel  ate  seemed  to 
choke  him,  when  he  knew  that  the  woman  he 
loved  was  starving.  Constantly  he  pictured  to 
himself  her  dry  lips  thirsting  for  water,  and  he 
could  hardly  bring  himself  to  take  a  swallow, 
since  she  was  deprived  of  it.  It  was  Anton  Ef- 
fendi  who  during  those  intolerable  days  kept 
the  Englishman  balanced,  who  gave  him  cour- 
age. They  had  to  proceed  very  slowly.  Lala 
Sheddin  was  overcautious,  knowing  that  their 
first  attempt  would  be  their  last.  Lionel  and 
Anton  Effendi  marveled  at  his  astuteness,  at 
his  coolness,  and  accepted  his  decisions  without 
question,  even  while  they  chafed  at  his  caution. 

At  last  the  night  for  the  attempt  came.  It 
was  a  stormy  night,  such  as  Lala  Sheddin  had 
hoped  for,  with  flurries  of  rain  and  gusts  of  wind 
to  hide  all  noises.  Of  the  elements,  only  the 
flashes  of  lightning  threatened  to  betray  them. 

Down  to  the  last  detail  Lala  Sheddin  had 
everything  arranged.  The  guards  under  the 

291 


THE  GRASP  OF  THE   SULTAN 

Sultan's  -windows,  that  night,  would  sleep  in 
sodden  slumber.  Kipruli  Ali,  blindfolded,  and 
blindly  trusting,  had  been  added  to  the  small 
rescue  party.  He  knew  the  great  adventure  had 
come :  he  did  not  seek  to  know  more.  Manlove 
Pasha's  yacht  was  anchored  not  far  from  the 
shore.  A  boat  was  in  readiness,  manned  by 
members  of  the  Brotherhood  of  Ships,  men 
devoted  to  Anton  Effendi. 

In  the  dark  death-chamber,  next  to  the  Sul- 
tan's room,  Kizatesh  Sultana  and  her  son  sat  on 
a  couch.  From  time  to  time  they  dozed;  then 
the  mother  would  wake  with  a  start,  as  if  by 
keeping  awake  she  could  protect  her  son. 

To  her  ears  came  the  faint  sound  of  a  stealth- 
ily moving  key  in  the  lock,  and  Kizatesh  Sul- 
tana's heart  stopped  beating.  Was  it  Lala 
Sheddin?  Was  it  the  Sultan,  coming  again  to 
taunt  them,  or  was  it  something  worse?  Had  he 
tired  of  their  slow  dying,  from  which  he  had  ob- 
tained such  small  pleasure,  and  was  he  sending 
mutes  with  the  dreadful  bowstrings  to  consum- 
mate his  revenge  at  once? 

She  felt  —  for  it  was  too  dark  to  see  —  the 
door  swing  open  on  its  noiseless,  well-oiled 

292 


THE  GRASP   OF  THE   SULTAN 

hinges.  In  a  flash  of  lightning  she  saw  a  sinister, 
bulky  figure. 

"Hush!  It  is  I  —  Lala  Sheddin,"  came  a  soft 
whisper,  and  the  felt-shod  eunuch  moved  near. 
"Is  Bayazet  awake?" 

Kizatesh  Sultana  leaned  over  and  kissed  her 
son's  forehead.  He  stirred,  and  awoke. 

Lala  Sheddin  unwound  a  coil  of  heavy  rope, 
which  had  been  wound  around  his  waist  under 
his  frock  coat.  He  fastened  one  end  of  it,  and 
then  let  the  rest  down  outside. 
f  Kizatesh  had  risen,  and  stood  beside  him. 
"The  bars  —  how  can  you  remove  them?"  she 
asked  breathlessly. 

*  Lala  Sheddin  took  hold  of  one  of  them,  gave 
it  a  wrench  with  the  whole  weight  of  his  power- 
ful frame,  and  it  came  away  from  its  fastenings. 
"For  eleven  years  I  have  known  that  it  was  not 
secure,"  he  said  with  a  grim  chuckle.  "Knowl- 
edge is  always  useful,  in  the  end." 

He  peered  down  into  the  stormy  blackness  of 
the  night.  The  rope  was  taut  and  quivering. 

"He  wanted  to  come  up,  —  to  share  my 
danger,  he  said,  —  so  I  let  him,  though  it  is  a 
useless  risk,"  he  grumbled. 

293 


Presently  Lionel's  head  was  on  a  level  with 
the  window-sill  —  it  was  not  a  long  climb  — 
and  he  clambered  into  the  room. 

"Now,  quick!  let  them  down  by  the  rope, 
while  I  watch  by  the  door,"  the  eunuch  com- 
manded. 

With  fingers  trembling  in  their  eagerness 
Lionel  fastened  the  rope  around  the  boy's 
waist,  lifted  him  over  the  sill,  and  lowered  him 
to  the  ground. 

Kizatesh  Sultana  stood  beside  him,  so  close 
that  he  could  hear  her  quick  breathing. 

"And  now,  you!"  he  said,  after  he  had  hauled 
in  the  rope.  It  seemed  a  miracle  to  him  that  he 
should  be  tying  the  rope  around  her  waist  — 
that  only  a  minute  stood  between  her  imprison- 
ment and  her  freedom,  and  that  he  should  be 
freeing  her.  But  when  he  had  lifted  her  over 
the  window-sill  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  never  let 
her  go.  Looking  down  into  the  black  chasm  be- 
low, an  awful  spasm  of  fear  shot  through  him. 
What  if  their  plot  had  been  discovered?  What 
if  he  were  delivering  her,  not  to  freedom,  but  to 
worse  punishment  than  she  had  yet  endured, 
and  never  could  hope  to  see  her  again! 

294 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Hurry!"  The  sharp  whisper  of  the  eunuch 
broke  the  spell  that  held  him,  and  quickly 
Lionel  lowered  her  to  the  ground.  When  the 
weight  was  off  the  rope,  he  still  peered  down 
through  the  storm,  trying  to  reassure  himself 
that  all  was  well. 

A  flash  of  lightning  illumined  the  scene,  and 
for  an  instant  he  saw  Manlove  Pasha,  Kipruli 
Ali,  and  Anton  Effendi,  with  the  woman  and 
the  child. 

Oddly  enough  the  lightning  seemed  not  to 
have  died  away  behind  him.  He  glanced  over 
his  shoulder,  and  there,  just  inside  the  door- 
way, stood  the  Sultan.  He  held  a  candle  in 
one  hand,  a  cocked  and  leveled  revolver  in  the 
other — a  weapon  of  which  he  was  known  to  be 
master. 

Lionel's  life  was  not  worth  a  wisp  of  straw 
until  the  light  of  the  candle  fell  upon  his  face. 
With  a  gasp  the  Sultan's  right  arm  lost  its  aim, 
and  the  candle  flickered  in  his  shaking  hand. 
A  dead  man  stood  before  him,  and  in  horrible 
fascination  the  two  stood  and  stared  at  each 
other  —  the  Englishman  whose  life's  hope  was 
snuffed  out  by  the  Sultan,  and  the  mighty 
295 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

ruler  quailing  before  the  spirit  of  a  man,  as  he 
could  never  quail  before  a  man  in  the  flesh. 

Except  for  the  flickering  flame,  all  was  still  as 
death.  Only  a  shadow  moved  behind  the  Sultan 
—  a  door  closed  so  softly  that  neither  of  the  two 
noticed  it;  and  then,  like  a  huge  spider  creeping 
on  his  prey,  the  bony  hand  of  the  eunuch  slid 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  Sultan,  and  gently 
came  to  rest  upon  his  wind-pipe. 

At  the  touch  of  the  cold  fingers,  the  Sultan 
started  —  but  it  was  too  late.  His  revolver  and 
candle  fell  to  the  floor,  but  the  door  was  closed, 
and  there  were  no  other  sounds  —  only  little 
gurgles  and  convulsive  writhings,  such  as  the 
powerless  make  in  the  grip  of  the  powerful. 

"Go!  Go  quickly!"  Lala  Sheddin  whispered 
hoarsely. 

"  I  cannot  desert  you,"  Lionel  replied. 

"If  I  have  earned  any  gratitude  from  you, 
Lionel,  —  go!  I  have  not  been  allowed  to  live 
as  a  man  —  at  least,  let  me  die  like  one." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  THE  NEVER-NEVER  LAND 

THE  first  person  who  boarded  the  white 
yacht  after  it  anchored  at  the  Piraeus  was  Anton 
Effendi.  He  was  covered  with  dust,  and  his 
tired  countenance  bespoke  long  and  rapid 
traveling.  Manlove  Pasha  and  Lionel  were  on 
deck  and  hastened  to  receive  him. 

"What  has  happened?"  Both  asked  the 
question. 

The  Greek  raised  his  hand.  "Only  good  news, 
my  friends."  He  turned  to  Lionel:  "My  boy, 
such  as  her  marriage  was,  she  is  now  free.  The 
Sultan  of  Turkey  is  no  more.  The  world  only 
knows  that  he  is  ill.  It  does  not  accord  with 
Eastern  statecraft  to  have  a  ruler  die  by  other 
than  natural  causes, i and  that  takes  time;  but 
I  wanted  you  to  know." 

He  drew  his  diminutive  figure  up  to  as  great 

a  height  as  he  could  command,  and  pointing  to 

the  horizon,  where  the  island  of  Crete  rose  above 

the  sea,  he  cried:  "There  is  her  birthplace! 

297 


THE  GRASP  OF   THE   SULTAN 

Daughter  of  brave  women  and  indomitable 
men !  And  here,  within  sight  of  the  Parthenon, 
she  is  freed  from  Mussulman  shackles  —  she  is 
a  living  emblem  of  the  future  of  Greater  Greece 
—  a  forerunner  of  the  destiny  which  is  to  be 
Constantinople's  some  day." 

Any  other  man  would  have  been  absurd,  ut- 
tering these  bombastic  words;  but  there  was 
something  about  Anton  Effendi  which  saved 
his  patriotic  outbursts  from  ridicule. 

"Lala  Sheddin  did  not  escape  with  you?" 
Lionel  asked  with  small  hope. 

"Lala  Sheddin  is  freer  than  any  of  us.  He 
has  gone  where  no  man  has  power  over  the 
destinies  of  other  men." 

"How  did  — did  he  die?" 

"  Surely  it  matters  little  in  what  manner  the 
door  of  the  prison  is  opened.  But  I  will  tell 
you:  his  end  was  painless.  We  have  ways  of 
escape,  here  in  the  East,  when  we  are  ready 
for  the  great  adventure.  Now,  will  you  give 
me  food  and  a  place  to  rest,  before  I  return  to 
Turkey?" 

"  Forgive  me,"  Manlove  Pasha  cried.  "  Come 
with  me." 

298 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Is  it  not  dangerous  for  you  to  return?" 
Lionel  asked  solicitously. 

Anton  Effendi  laughed,  and,  ungloving  his 
hands,  held  them  up  for  inspection.  The  light 
of  the  setting  sun  caught  the  sparkle  of  the  dia- 
monds and  rubies  which  adorned  the  highly 
polished,  slender  fingers. 

"  Look  at  these  hands,  my  friend.  Could  any 
one  with  sense  possibly  associate  them  with 
dangerous  and  heroic  deeds?"  From  his  head 
he  took  his  fez,  and  the  breeze  wafted  his  long 
locks  about  his  brow.  "And  this  head  —  this 
vain  head  —  could  it  harbor  any  schemes  other 
than  cheap  amourettes?  No,  I  am  perfectly 
safe  to  return  to  the  land  of  the  Crescent  —  the 
land  of  my  fathers." 

Manlove  Pasha  conducted  the  Greek  away, 
and  Lionel  went  to  the  forward  saloon,  where 
Kizatesh  Sultana  sat  by  the  large  window, 
watching  the  glorious  colors  which  the  sun  was 
leaving  in  its  wake.  Bayazet  was  asleep  on  a 
couch,  his  head  in  his  mother's  lap.  At  the 
coming  of  the  Englishman,  Kizatesh  turned 
from  the  sky  to  the  man,  her  eyes  full  of  the 
warmth  of  the  hour.  She  blushed  at  sight  of 

299 


him,  and  instinctively  started  to  cover  her  face. 
The  movement  thrilled  him,  as  every  move- 
ment of  hers  did.  She  was  still  unable  to  accus- 
tom herself  to  seeing  him  freely.  Her  timidity 
communicated  itself  to  Lionel,  and  both  were 
like  two  very  young  people,  conscious  of  the 
marvelous  wonder  that  was  theirs,  and  which 
had  not  yet  been  translated  into  speech. 

She  pointed  to  a  chair.  "Will  you  be  seated, 
effendi?" 

Her  voice,  always  soft  and  musical,  acquired 
an  added  richness  of  tone  whenever  she  spoke 
to  Lionel;  and  the  tone  enchanted  him  and  made 
him  wish  to  kneel  before  her  and  pour  forth  the 
words  which  were  clamoring  for  utterance. 
Yet  he  only  drew  nearer  the  chair  she  had 
pointed  to,  and  said :  — 

"Anton  Effendi  is  here."  He  had  meant  to 
add:  "You  are  free  —  free  to  be  mine";  but  he 
only  said,  "The  Sultan  is  dead." 

She  did  not  speak  at  once.  After  a  while  she 
touched  the  head  of  her  sleeping  son.  "Some 
day  his  turn  may  come  to  help  his  people.  He 
must  be  made  fit  for  his  task."  Then  suddenly 
she  asked:  "Where  is  Lala  Sheddin?" 
300 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Anton  Effendi  says  that  he  has  gone  where 
no  man  has  power  over  the  destinies  of  other 


men." 


She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, — white, 
almost  transparent  little  hands,  —  and  the  long- 
ing to  touch  them,  to  take  them  captive  in  his 
own,  nearly  overpowered  Lionel.  Yet  because 
his  love  was  so  great  he  mastered  his  longing. 

Presently  she  uncovered  her  face,  and  he  saw 
that  she  had  not  been  crying.  "Yes,  Anton 
Effendi  is  right:  we  must  not  mourn." 

After  this  neither  spoke  for  a  long  time.  They 
sat  in  the  silence  which  draws  people  nearer 
together.  The  eyes  of  the  woman  were  fixed  on 
the  sky,  where  white  fleecy  clouds  vied  with  the 
sunset  colors  in  beauty. 

Lionel  was  the  first  to  speak:  "Lala  Sheddin 
told  me  once  that  you  used  to  watch  the  clouds, 
believing  that  they  were  the  dreams  of  people, 
and  that  when  they  were  granted  by  Allah  they 
changed  to  gold.  Do  you  still  do  that?" 

She  nodded.  Turning  a  slow,  searching  look 
upon  Lionel,  she  asked :  — 

"And  you,  English  lord,  have  you  never 
made  any  dreams?" 

301 


THE  GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

"Yes;  I  used  to  dream  and  hope  that  some 
day  I  might  be  able  to  help  you;  and  that  hope 
has  now  been  granted." 

Lionel  was  wholly  in  the  mood  of  the  woman 
that  he  loved.  They  smiled  at  each  other  like 
two  children  who  had  wandered  into  the  never- 
never  land. 

"And  have  you  no  more  dreams  now?" 

She  looked  remote  and  ethereal,  yet  the 
warmth  of  life  was  in  her  eyes,  and  they  encour- 
aged him  to  say :  — 

"Yes.  I  dream  now  that  some  day  you  will 
care  enough  for  me  to  become  my  wife." 

Before  his  gaze  her  eyes  faltered,  and  he  — 
with  the  capacity  of  a  lover  for  tormenting  him- 
self —  waited,  fearing  that  he  had  spoken  too 
soon. 

Her  face  was  averted.  The  sunset  claimed 
her  attention,  and  there,  above  the  mass  of 
color,  a  little  white  cloud  floated. 

She  pointed  to  it.  It  was  a  fleecy,  delicate 
little  cloud,  which  seemingly  could  not  decide 
whether  to  remain  a  cloud  or  to  fade  away  and 
become  lost  in  the  ether.  The  two  of  them 
watched  it  with  bated  breath,  as  if  their  fate 

302 


H, 


THE   GRASP   OF   THE   SULTAN 

depended  on  it.  It  grew  fainter  —  fleecier.  But 
then  a  bold  shaft  of  yellow  light  shot  up  from 
the  sunset.  Higher  and  higher  it  moved  toward 
the  zenith  of  the  sky. 

Kizatesh  turned  toward  her  lover,  her  lips 
parted,  her  slender  figure  swaying  like  a  lily  in  a 
breeze. 

"See!"  she  cried,  "your  cloud  is  touched 
with  gold." 


THE   END       - 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S   .  A 


A          /"\  "''*  I'"'  I'll  llll 


J9     9528 


